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Tag: poetry

Fate Denied Us

June faded away like a lost forgotten lover.

For me, the days were longer.

Everywhere I look, there’s stillness and life.

The tense emptiness of being alone in these woods.

Silence once energizing, only broken by shouting.

The fetid air of failure

And the taste of rubber here and there unexpectedly.

The pain of temporary blindness smells like hot wood.

I saw screenprints by Andy Warhol in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania

On a Wednesday afternoon, I wished you’d been there.

Not really though.

It was hot and the streets were busy with people

Hanging out or just walking

Like we’d fallen back in time.

A vision of the nineteen-sixties,

A pair of people in the same place because

We had the same shoes.

Where for to you be said the friend I don’t know anymore.

The plump ass of vindictive lust

Walks away with relief and frustration.

As satisfied as a starving child,

I was rich and the world was mine,

As tall as a house.

The real me unzipped my shell

And stepped out to fanfare.

Dude came to life and threw money around.

One day, next week next year

His life will start, the one he has been waiting for

As real life slips by.

The soft needle now 

An impossible memory

In her dead fingers,

Just a glint.

We’ll spend more time together now you’re dead.

Fatum negavit nobis.

Locked doors patiently watching

Diesel engines cheering us on

Now I clammer and grasp

As that June slips away gone.

Just bang like a death

Not a tender beat in that heart.

Cramp-like pain in the chest, and a headache that never stops.

The ink-black horrors when my eyes close.

With mouths peeled apart, as if to engulf.

A dark blue light with flickering shadows, watching everything as if from a fire.

A jade elephant sentry, at the gate to the red hill.

Smiling greasy faces in bliss oblivious, is it a warning?

Effortlessly fingerpainted masterpieces of a certain style I made in my mind.

Distracted and gone, but then back, almost but never.

Suddenly, you can’t remember the last time you breathed.

Realisation: a death of the self.

He’s not breathing.

©2023 David Newton