Tuesday, 3 August 2010

I ran to the forest for that final cigarette
I finished it, then sat alone with Pedro, the camera
And an imported, Dutch lager
I’m looking at the oldest house,
The one they’re attempting to make look the newest
I see that flock of birds flying over the ghost of a popular boot sale
I feel guilty
They may mistake my fag butt for a worm
But I don’t pick it up. I’m too lazy.
Besides, my conscience will be clear, I’ll never even know if I took a life. And if I’m unaware, the death is almost irrelevant.
There is a leaf trapped in the barbed wire
And it nods and shakes in the breeze.
The most in-decisive leaf I’ve ever seen.
I keep asking it the same question on repeat
But its answer changes depending on the direction of the wind.
“If all that’s left is duty,
I’m falling on my sword...”
I can see a tractor coming closer and I’m starting to get scared.
I came here to be alone, and now there’s another man.
I wish I took a photo of the tranquillity,
Instead I just photographed the past.
When it’s developed, I’ll spend time, holding the relic of what can never happen again.
If I sit here long enough I’ll just become part of the backdrop.
Opposite the tangled leaf and beside the butt.
Birds will eat the ivy from my eyes
And my heart will only rumble when the wind blows.
The old lady will walk past me in silence and wonder why she’d never noticed me before
And I’ll just frown forever
Because it’s always too sunny to smile.

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