
The open room swirled its inhabitants around
as though they were merely droplets of mouthwash.
Each one was bent double,
their heads buried within screens,
an intense uniform,
slurred speech,
the stench of alcohol.
Outside, cranes ate the land and spewed
rough concrete blocks
on top of where I used to visit
when I searched for peace.
The lapping water replaced by ballast and sand,
vacuumed out of existence.
Faceless creatures wander the dimly lit streets
exuding smoke, oozing acidic words
melting the pavement, warming it before it
becomes their bed again.
I got in just in time and
the worries spilled out my mouth,
the shadows which prowled not far behind me
were held at bay, at least for tonight.
The train passed by and brought with it a new curse,
the noise was accompanied by the tapping of the rain.
I close my curtains, pass out
and wake up not sure where I am.
The outside has
changed again
and it has left a body behind.
About the Creator
Reece Beckett
Poetry and cultural discussion (primarily regarding film!).
Author of Portrait of a City on Fire (2020, Impspired Press). Also on Medium and Substack, with writing featured… around…


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