#415
There’s no music here
in this dreary German cafe,
my coffee black, the sky
white above humming Munich,
large wafting snowflakes
have melted to sticky, sleety rain.
My toes are numb
and the nausea and headache
that have been stalking me for
days stare me down from
the corner of this foresaken cafe.
The M Train lays in front of me,
earlier i’d exited the U3, dashing
from the spotted control
catching citizens commuting around me.
The M Train. Patti’s pages eerily guided
the days forth, she’d sat in her cafe
as snow began to fall, when outside Sandra’s
window to find the same sky,
Marukami, her obsession, had spent the
morning occupying my mind, and now
in a cafe after a chance train intuition,
true, sweet Patti’s discussing portals
#416
i hate it
when i forget
the right books
to write in.
Sins.
#417
There again
waiting in the corner
my numbers, my numbers
in the film
the descending address,
squealing from alarms
as i check the clock,
then her number,
well, you know what it reads.
#418
Staring at the cakes
and goodies,
through the glass
of the bakery,
behind the railing
from the second floor
within this crystalline airport.
#419
i told my mother to shut up.
i was stressed,
she was cluttering,
and annoying,
i immediately hated myself.
i felt as ugly
as those terrible words
that i so cruelly spoke.
And despite my
immediate apology
and it’s acceptance,
it still bothers me,
and have yet to
forgive myself
regardless of the
forgiveness granted.
Lessons, and love,
time again.
Thanks for joining! Find poems through out the week on my instagram @monsieurwrite
Don’t forget to check out the poems being recited on The Write Stuff podcast!
Take care, call your family, tell them you love them.
wazoo!
-Mr. Write