BKK2

girl says boy, i like to talk
from here, tapping convincing-
ly with four fingers at some
approximation of her heart's
location, lying deceptively
beneath a cheeky t-shirt
with the rubric "bitch"
written on it above a
cartoon of a stick figure
man pointing a gun as
matter of factly as stick
figure men can at stick
figure women. he gets up to

go to the bathroom as she
calls plaintively, "i hope you
come back to me" with
melody backed by practiced
experience. hope
expressed is assurance
received. in his absence a
tiny bucket of dangerously
ascorbic candied spirits appears
with a metal handle
and two plastic straws.

ominous caps of ice peak
through the meniscus mad
lab vapour wafting from the
surface

will and desire: will you
go with me? i don't believe
you. i will go with you? yeah.

prompt and response
each attempt to convince
of false sincerity.

they march to an atm. as some
conspicuous proof she leaves her
pocketbook on the table

Bangkok, 2007

saturday the 24th

up early
whitechapel wander
after the most courageous shower
stretching and snuck distillation
stay wild, alright for drinks

wet cobblestone condoms frighten
more than rain
a collar up and circuitous ambulomancy
hunting for bagels behind shutters
grateful for an open off licence
an umbrella and a pack of chesterfields
East Aldgate found finally

coffee, Zara, inkstained, coffee

a sudden magnetic redheaded roar behinds me
overwhelmed by colours and cutouts and conversation
family tragedies of the Irish mafia

caught in the rain
lost again
late
violence in the round is cold comfort
the bloody smell of molasses

emptiness, exhaustion
coffee, bookshop, the ache of leather bound dogs across the bridge
lights flicker and grainy projections of futile rebellion blare
blatant and unwarranted codas