unspoken word

Chicago is…

Like all the bits

Of America that I’ve liked

And all sorts of other sides

I never considered

But if I had

I would have missed when I left

And its been a long time

Since I had any desire

To make any kind of trip to America

But this visit is

making me rethink

 

Chicago is

Like the arty lo-fi scenes

I’ve loved in new york

Only without the pretenciousnes

Like that vibe I liked in San Francisco

But without the flakiness

Its what the best parts of D.C.

Could be like if it wasn’t

So stifled by all things governmental

Or as quirky retro as parts of Baltimore

But less painfully kitsch

Chicago is…

totally unfamiliar

But ever so welcoming

Its this place I’ve found myself in

somewhat randomly

But now I really can’t believe

It never occurred to me
to come here…Sooner

I’m walking down main roads

And side streets enjoying

Every single hello how are you

And have a good day that

Many of my European friends

Would happily mock and sneer at

I’m feeling genuine curiousity and interest

When asked what I’m doing,

where I’m going, where I’ve been

 

I’m loving listening in on the conversations in

Coffeshops, amused by racks of alternative indie pornographic comics

Lovingly crafted zines, and thrift shops almost virginal

In their low priced stock of 80s garments

Not yet picked clean by fashion-obsessed   hipsters

Four jackets for eight dollars

Really you must be joking?

And those Cute  bakeries

with home-baked hand frosted

Cupcakes that are vegan friendly because

Well why wouldn’t they be?

And I can’t believe how many

independently owned

And operated shops there are  here

 

everyone seems so chilled out relaxed

But motivated.

The people I see in café’s are drawing and writing

And talking about organizing gigs and going to gigs

And maybe its just an American thing

But the enthusiasm people seem to have here

Is practically  overwhelming

 

Chicago, so far I have only
one complaint for you

I know its only day two

But really there are far far far too many

Tall skinny cute boys with
beards and vintage glasses

Slouching around in faded jeans and hoodies

And they’re everywhere!

working in all those

Indie owned shops  and bakeries

Cycling down those side streets

Writing and drawing in their notebooks in café’s

And they’re all way too friendly

I mean, it’s a bit much, Its distracting

after all
I’m supposed to be here to be working..

 

 

 

 

 

the first time i stepped in
to the bunker with no buzzer
i thought
this might be world’s smallest room…
but he didn’t have much
so there was more than enough
room to move in but
it seemed no matter
how we passed one another

it was impossible
 not to touch…
not in a way that was
intentional
definitely always accidental
our arms and shoulders
brushed
sized  one another  up
maybe even flirted with
the idea of more intimate contact

this was a protected space
scorpions tales crossed at the gate
and there we spent
a full day, a full on full day
and the evening aftermath
i complained that the bars
in hackney didn’t stay open
late enough

and bought myself a flask of
jack daniels
from the corner shop
as consolation.
and when we came back
nothing really happened

well there was a lot of talking
about all sorts of things
but mainly relationships and then
i think we traded notebooks
teased one another over
the heiroglypics we used
masquerading as handwriting
nothing happened
but that room felt
charged with something

months later
i lingered outside that same
graham road grey door
waiting to enter
stepped up the stairs
and though it still may have been
worlds smallest room
on this day it  amazed
how we consistantly
navigated the spadce
so no matter how we passed one another
there was definitely no chance of
touching.

and i still felt protected
by the scorpions at the gate
but maybe not quite as
relaxed as the time before
this time it felt like
there was just enough room for
us and our alteregos
perhaps some space left oveer
for the lives we were leading outside
both more than a little preoccupied
with the thoughts of
and the hours didn’t pass quite as fast

and when we finished
i made no complaints
about bars not being
open late enough
i was long gone before
closing times
leaving me to run and catch busses
and center my mind on
the concept of “space”

the space we occupy
the space we let someone into
the space in my head
that i so often share
with total strangers
but sometimes struggle to explain
to those that i intimately know

the space two flights up
from this unmarked
graham road grey door
to the bunker with no buzzer
the safe haven for a poet
and the space he fills
the space he choose to share

the space between our meetings
the space underneath
what is said
and what is left unspoken
guarded by scorpions
tales crossed at the gate…

Dear straight girl,
wait…let me specify,
because i wouldn’t want to
generalise unfairly.

Dear straight girl