deepundergroundpoetry.com
On a Weekday in Winter, Waiting
I am that glimmer on a frigid window
Through which, as the evening creeps, a bloodless sun can be seen
Slumping, as per routine, against an assemblage of begrimed bricks, concrete,
And trees that, despite their barrenness, continue to coyly undress.
Oppositely, too, there is a stale clump of sheets,
Stuck together in certain spots,
Swallowing a pair of sallow arms that pointlessly pillow a wonted vacancy,
Coiling around the legs that spread across the threadbare mattress,
And dangle low, laden with a nebulous and
Perpetually unfulfilled wanting.
Eventually, in the shade of
The pile of trifles of every day, I evanesce.
In the morning, extracted from the bowels
Of scrambled drawers, torn open, and time again
By hurried hands, are shirts patterned with praxis.
There is, then, the endless stirring of the coffee,
And the constant yapping of a distant dog.
I am the spiral in the stained mug.
Through which, as the evening creeps, a bloodless sun can be seen
Slumping, as per routine, against an assemblage of begrimed bricks, concrete,
And trees that, despite their barrenness, continue to coyly undress.
Oppositely, too, there is a stale clump of sheets,
Stuck together in certain spots,
Swallowing a pair of sallow arms that pointlessly pillow a wonted vacancy,
Coiling around the legs that spread across the threadbare mattress,
And dangle low, laden with a nebulous and
Perpetually unfulfilled wanting.
Eventually, in the shade of
The pile of trifles of every day, I evanesce.
In the morning, extracted from the bowels
Of scrambled drawers, torn open, and time again
By hurried hands, are shirts patterned with praxis.
There is, then, the endless stirring of the coffee,
And the constant yapping of a distant dog.
I am the spiral in the stained mug.
Published 5th Apr 2024
Author's Note
Written on 7 December 2023, mostly on my boyfriend's toilet abroad, and fragments while on a walk. I walked until my ankles bled. I was so cold that my hands and feet had gone numb.
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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