I’m a big fan of Merry’s poetry.
This is relatively new – a few months I think. I really like reading this one out loud – it’s got an urgency that sort of builds (I think).
In the night I can hear the echoes
of a river that never ran through this street
and the creaks of the not-boats drifting like leaves along it.
in the night I can hear the pigeons
squabbling and doing magical mundane pigeon things
six feet above me on the roof
I don’t sleep,
because to sleep would be to admit another day is coming.
The river is full of secret nighttime commerce,
happening quietly around and beneath the loudmouthed drugdealers
I heard from beneath the sounds of my neighbours’ party
mingling with the deep voice of some beast
who stalks me, curious, and is interrupted by Basshunter again.
I try to keep moving
like a shark
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