like plum stones sunk in neon
look so clean and smell so sickly
drifting through duty free
people sleep with arms wrapped around their heads
in limbo, waiting for connections.
wispy voices float in air
with names on their tongues like cherry bombs.
I want to sit and smoke and drink
so pay 2 pounds 99 pence for a pint of stella
and sit and drink and smoke and write
my second ever poem about being in an airport
while my eyes sink futher into my skull and I
cry for sleep like a lost lover.
17 June 2004
thank you for your patience (rough)
Posted by Cecil B. Demented at 00:43
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