Author: waby eliott
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BEAUTIFRAGILOUS
choose a browning stunted treeplace a ring of weeds therebless it as it rots and dieswatch the burrs shoot out and risebeautifragilous tree stalk caught in the windthe wind’ll knock you over if you stand too thinthe ground will eat you up if the wind dies downthe tree stalk shivered as the sunshine grinnedhow can…
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LIKE
i like that loosely falling hair lightly tucked behind the ear that makes the wind seem so severe in the early morning light i like that pretty pointed finger maybe pointing at a thing or maybe heavy with a ring like a dewy blade of grass i like that chunky laden flavour that swings about…
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CYCLING HOME
the following poems are from my london poems from 2011 to 2014 i just bought a new back wheel for my tall and sturdy bike and riding back from a party i got hit by a big white truck i was cycling by the curb and the truck came hurtling up i had the space…
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MUGGING in PARIS by NIGHT
hello, i’d like to offer this story of when i was studying in london in 2010, and a french girl i liked couldn’t make her channel tunnel train ticket back to france so she gave the ticket to me. and so i went to paris for a few days and tried my hardest to be…
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ON BEING COLD
freshest of winds, tingling skin hair is being spat out and swallowed back in wind-water cry from the small of the eye tear from the tear duct streams to the ear bloodblister lips, fingerless fingertips the creature the cold is, laughs as it whips a nugget of warm in the pit of the arm dig…
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DRE:AM POEM
why aren’t i a hero?isn’t everybody a hero?no! nobody’s a hero!a lady came in and spoke chinesei was burning to ask her this question:are you the rocks and sand beneath my feet?yes, we are the rocks and sand. i had a few dre:am poems in china that explored an interesting surreal side of life. i…
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BEIJING DRE:AMS
beijing is living in pink and grey. people are as slow as their cold fingers. rub at them on the metro. rub at them on the bus. all the buildings are grey, save for the pink ones. housing is pink or grey, skyscrapers are grey, with shimmers of pink. the mists are a deathly grey…
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CALLUSED HAND
from your old callused hand to the last living strand of hair that sprouts feebly like black sunbaked seaweed with earlobes enormous and eyeballs a-milky these wrinkles put dimples all over your flesh crawling in mongst the shadows of large concrete buildings and rooting the gutter for edible matter which is torn in your hands…
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LAST DAY IN OASIS TOWN, DESERT
-the wind was seething, heavy. -after waking, and gazing at the pummelled window -i pulled my patchwork desert gear into a bag. -i borrowed some sandals, a bike, and ate a healthy bowl of noodle. -then peddled scowling at the wind. -in the town, in the open maze of buildings, -the sands were kept at…
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SKP
the hat was a little too smug the morning turned into a bug with my freehand i waveddown a fastspeeding car and poured into the door from a jug the morning incredibly thin the sun scuttled up with a grin the black leather bag with its money and buckles hung grasped by the scruff in…