Poetry: Lit Up Magazine

from upon Montjuic

Arambol days
Kingfisher
soft stringy black
duelling beast slipping in the sand
packs of wild dogs the only community
mythology and overly cooked eggs
Russian prophets
like Him in visage
foul mouthed in foreign tongue
3000 faces
unable to communicate with 1
freedom came at the cost of his arse
I don’t judge, but nor can I follow

a city constructed entirely by men’s minds.
a concrete dream
cold stone and metal sleeping
a million miles from its foundations
broken chords of dancing queens played on a sold out instrument of ancient integrity.
valueless.
uncoordinated.
dumb.
tourist coaches pull out for the next stop on the itinerary

stop
get down from your carriage
forsake all your personal jesus.
open your eyes to see a dusty vacuum in the site where sat the monolith you mistook for your soul.
touch the empty sky
breathe in the lack of self
recite 3 times there is no place like home
wrest yourself from the nightmare
sleep walk across dead earth

a light
a star
you don’t know the word in english.
a different place.
desire to live and wonder
traded off against the acceptance of beauty
death.
fight without thought of victory
struggle
scream liguidless tears
defy the flies
act

we

keep walking
searching
together