tisdag 16 februari 2010

dikter som jag håller på med

Nej det regnar för mycket för banken, tar det imorgon när jag ändå ska ner till Oakwood. Skriver istället. En dikt jag inte är jättenöjd med och en annan jag tror funkar.

I have never thought of it before but
Her legs reach all the way up
Well shaped sky scrapers in spider web tights
She walks through all the taxi drivers
No signs for her
No one shouting her name
No one knows it here
Crocked smile all the way down to the oysters and
raw smell of winter and tube

Perfume shopping
Tax free and boarding pass
The woman smiles like a plastic toy
Ready to bounce away any minute
A life in a suitcase and the goal is
A friend’s flat
At the end of the universe
Could be mars but might as well be London
Cigarettes lay burning in the rain
Broken memories of a conversation
Now gone.
In a hurry.
Catch the last tube.
Home or just somewhere
In this that is called

White linen in March
Red wine stains on a dress
Phone calls in the early morning
A low sun pierces her eyes
Dust like snow on
Her face, shoulders, hands
Palms turned towards a steel white sky

Walk with me
Carry me. My feet are sore.
Down to the water
He lifts her up and feels the warmth
Fingers on naked cold skin
Goosebumps like an organic Braille system
Her knees bleeding
Staining the dress
Blood and wine mixed together
This is my body and this is my dress
Even deeper red
His lips wet as he tries to kiss
The pain away

Down at the riverbank
The linen explodes
Across the fields
In the houses
Small blue flowers
Everyone’s feet
He sings for her
Underneath his breath
It sounds familiar.
A melody
That’s existed since the dawn of time
But just for her.

The dress is a sail in the water
There are many questions but
Just a few answers
Can you pray for me dear?
Can I have your deck of cards?
As the water turns red
The queen of hearts floats
Towards me
It looks like she smiles
But it could be
Her tears for the river

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