i. Francelist
Some said to me,
the easiest way to a woman's heart
is through listening and engaging;
to be a conversation-vulture,
picking up on phonemes,
syllabic discord and fractured grammar.
Look for the emotion, they said.

Heartbeats kept on going, though,
steady as German beer.
I was told never to look at a mountaintop
for it never lives up to expectations up close.
Hearts break, but they mend, right?


ii. Victoria
No one heard,
exhalations condensing and dispersing,
lung-angels dying for some heat.
Maybe it's the air,
constricting my ability to fake sympathy,
maybe it's the water,
drowning my ability to fake comprehension.

My God, Victoria was a long time ago.
She taught me everything I've forgotten.

iii. Eleanor
June came, warm as ever.
Not hot though, t-shirts certainly
but let's go easy on the shorts.
There was a breeze of fish suppers
and overdone haggis.
Eleanor was sitting on a bench
with a 99 flake between her lips.
I say, missus.
I say Eleanor, she just looked like one.
Walking away, suddenly winter was here.

The beach looked colder,
barren of friendliness and recognition.

The hoarfrost shivered me bones.

iv. Montana
I spent weeks in Montana,
turning to months then years.
Before I knew it, time became irrelevant
as I reveled from peak to peak,
performing the danse macabre
on Stratford Hill's snowy slopes.

Victoria's wisp appeared in the haze
and I slipped, landing on my butte.

No one laughed in the wilderness.

v. Deliberations
I never saw Eleanor again,
even from 4,182 miles away.
But when I closed my eyes,
I saw everything.
A freckle that sat an inch below her right eye,
the slight twitch at the corners of her mouth
when the ice cream grazed her soft palate.
The way the breeze lifted her dress slightly
to reveal an extra few cells of her perfect legs.

No one said it would be this difficult
to miss a complete stranger.

How on earth can people cope?

vi. Russian Uponya
I travelled to Ufa
and had a one night stand with a barmaid.
I swear her name was a model of Citroën
but it has escaped me,
like rainclouds over the Xsara.

She looked familiar,
but I'm struggling to recall whom her resemblance is.

Will I ever be victoriass?

vii. Tallness in a Land of Height
Why do people migrate when they are soon to die?
There must be a chemical
that the brain sends throughout the body
that collects in the wrinkles of their feet
and they slide downhill to a determinable point.

I feel different than when I wasn't home.
Montana was fresh, but memories pervaded
every face I met.

I love the beach, the smell of fish suppers
and overdone naan bread.
A woman is sitting on a bench
with a 99 flake between her lips.
A blob of ice cream drops
and lands on her leg,
amputated below the knee.

I shuddered,
wondering how anyone could love something not complete.

No satisfaction, I presume?
Last edited by Dæmönika at Mar 22, 2013,
this is amazing bro, you are a pro
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