deepundergroundpoetry.com

Of Insects & Order

I’d come to adore you in your blue hat
on a silent afternoon, thought furrowed,
cigarette in hand while furious traffic
ploughed on beneath a balcony,
twin cups of tea on a city’s smudged stone
while you talked of everything
and nothing at all

childhood
council-tax
the telly pulled from a skip
in the dead of night
that needed a new plug

there was something comforting there,
as if all the junk in your head became mine
in some unimportant corner of the world.

Talking to you
was just like talking to me —
the randomness of it, as if your brain
had too many browser tabs open at once
and I knew exactly what that was like
to have all the ideas
and none of the plans

to hyper-focus on detail,
because the bigger picture looked grand
but overwhelming as fuck

so you flitted, like silverfish
from one thought to the next
as I watched the hollow in your cheek
sink into your ever-shrinking skull
beneath a dull sun
beneath a mind full of wool
re-appearing momentarily
back amongst angry cars, ground frost,
our luke-warm forgotten tea.  

There’s a lot to be said
for how safety allows us to be
everything that we are

and that was the word
I valued most:

safety

to be myself
to not have anything expected of me
no bullshit to live up to

just old insects and camaraderie
scuttling ruins in the Northern dark.

Written by Northern_Soul
Published
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