The taxicab smells of stale beer and
half-gone friendships and
I am lost
again.
Tumbling dimensions.
The precautionary naivety of
young men
home for birthdays
home for christmas
home when home is just a name
just a concept, lost,
just a thought as foreign
as the white-gold sands of Egypt.
These notes they sound the same when played in tandem
not all too dissimilar
to this.
Third-wheel to the world, the pallid sky,
to that girl kissing a boy in your lliving room
while you sit outside with tufts of grass,
pull upwards till they break.
They break.
We break.
I break into
pieces (roll down a grassy hill till dizziness
then stumble home
much
like I
stumble now).
Comments
Love your work man, and it is very live poetry
in the sense that it demands a voice. Please let me know if you ever do live readings in Sydney.
Onya for sticking with it when you felt stale, this truly is an 'art and sullen craft'.
All I can offer you on this one is a reading, do with it what you will, whether as an aid to objectivity or to post where you will.
https://soundcloud.com/neopoet/this-city-does-not-care-for-drunks-or-th…
Thanks Jess
Really appreciate the feedback, helps keep me at it. Love the readings as well. I'm hoping to go perform more stand up poetry in the new year, so I'll definitely let you know.
All the best,
Nick.
Hey Riotface,
I'm on mobile so I can't write much at the moment, but I love this one.
I feel the staleness, especially this time of year. I spend all year looking forward to a break at winter and summer then it never relieves me the way I hope it will. I somehow forget I'm the one who does all the cleaning, cooking, and taking care of everyone so my break isn't much of a break. But that's "home", just like you wrote.
Take care,
Kelsey