Dweller

Dweller short poem

The widest face I’ve ever seen
and by his ears , thick whiskers,

Always drinks sweet Lipton’s tea
in a glass with lemon

Enjoys his cigarettes and smiles
pouring over daily papers

Ringtone set to Mahler’s 5th
in his eyes small progress is:

Goosesteps, new convertibles
stooping tramps, the summer dresses,

He sees the crowd’s light tenderness
while breathing in dry, sterile air

Which runs around on concrete.

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Dominic James

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Having moved along from prose I have been writing poems for a few years now, trying different forms - gaining and failing (see Sonnets) - trying to match mind and soul on the page: it was never going to be easy. The best writing is generally poetry, the worst too. So, we work on it.
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