Wednesday, January 12, 2005

night grabs... on my way to you


The car, almost sweating, bending every corner,
looking for a way to stop the influence of air.
Me, listening to the Stones on the radio.
Moonlight Mile.
With a head full of snow.

I'm not driving. I'm not . I wouldn't drive like this. Really.
Arch my back, let the colours do the rest.
I hold one hand out the window and drag the street lights down and scatter them behind me. They spin and spark in my wake.
Electric breadcrumbs to follow later
to collect in my pockets on the long walk back home
once the moon has stopped laughing
once the pizza boxes have stopped gossipping
once the car falls away
panel by panel
once I've eaten one hundred phone boxes
and found not a single dial tone
that sounds like you.

3 comments:

Anonymous said...

electric breadcrumbs!

lovely

--revelatrice

Sean M Whelan said...

Aah thank you! That's my favourite part of that poem too!

Penny said...

"once I've eaten one hundred phone boxes
and found not a single dial tone
that sounds like you."

beautiful.


I've done this.