Wednesday, July 15, 2009

Anymore -16/07/2009

(from a draft 28.04.2008)

No one who knows who I am knows where I am,
No one who knows where I am, knows who I am.

I am,
Walking down streets where I don’t speak,
Big Apple lumping in my throat,
A fake name otherwise not knowing what to say for itself,
Don’t matter because nothing is the matter,

And it’s about time,
I'm returning it back to you,
Unused and its originally-sold condition,
Give me time if you like,
But I’m finding my lost time less than a bother,

At three AM, this city does sleep,
I assure you,
I haven't carved my name into raw exposed skin,
On the back of a Manhattan that dared me to,
Instead while it slumbers I scribble its name on me,
With a heart on my sleeve,
Right between I and the N –why.

Talking what I’ve already walked,
I've bridged the gap between you,
And the needs on the other side,
I've shared nights from stolen glances,
With their rightful owners.
I’ve been sold-on the Brooklyn bridge,
And no longer spinning centrifugal for attention,
Because it's a centre that doesn’t hold,
Can’t hold me here nor there nor anywhere,

As I collected this week to recollect,
Life stuffed full til the stitching bursts,
There’s a vague threat,
Camera strap hanging over me like a noose,
Snapping shots break-neck,
Well that’s a warning I chose to neglect,
Because, as it turns out,

I can hang,
All on my own,

Just fine.


I'm starting to finally crack into the notebooks I wrote while travelling. This bit corresponds to one of two photo albums from New York that I'm putting up online:

(the second being)~



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