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#redline
i type my middle name cautiously s e o y o u n g and watch resignedly as the red squiggle appears underneath but with smug satisfaction i right click and hit 'add to dictionary' hah, take that i am now part of the lexicon and you can't stop me
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Oct 29, 2018
Oct 29, 2018 at 12:17 AM UTC
korean;american
The mainstay of guests, Their backs against chairs That are backed against walls, Readily seated and settled Into tight knit sub communities And discussion cells… Thrashing out social failings And political ineptitudes Gleaned from broadsheets And RT News updates, Mumbling agreements Or gentle dissents, Some too ****** to participate (should have “passed the kouchie ‘pon the left hand side”). One spills red wine onto white cloth And they all laugh longer than necessary About the irony of it all Even though there was no irony In the situation to begin with. There are a small handful of male guests That I feel I could get along with. I give way in the doorway For the hostess to deliver nibbles. There are a handful of female guests That I think I’d like to **** (the hostess included), But none of this allays the reluctance To step through the threshold. The hostess exits the room As I pin myself to the hallway wall, “It could be you”, I think, And try to relay this through a raised eyebrow smile That goes unnoticed. I attempt my break in Just as the conversation turns to The importance of contemporary art In modern society And the relevance of Jim Morrison’s poetry In the cerebral world of words. I search audibly for a conversation Centred around Adele’s latest album release… And I NEVER, on a good day, want to talk about THAT. In for a penny, I take the step with a fuzzy indifference And am drawn to a hand extending the offer of a spliff, And to the ***** of empty wine glass on full bottle, And a “will you, won’t you?” expression, And I trip and fall over a synthetic fur rug Lying, recumbent, too scared to take my eyes Off the pendulum light bulb that hovers above me And all I can think is that the hallway Was a much safer place to be. Copyright Marc Hawkins 2017
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Oct 7, 2017
Oct 7, 2017 at 5:39 AM UTC
TRIPPING OVER THE WELCOME MAT
The mainstay of guests, Their backs against chairs That are backed against walls, Readily seated and settled Into tight knit sub communities And discussion cells… Thrashing out social failings And political ineptitudes Gleaned from broadsheets And RT News updates, Mumbling agreements Or gentle dissents, Some too ****** to participate (should have “passed the kouchie ‘pon the left hand side”). One spills red wine onto white cloth And they all laugh longer than necessary About the irony of it all Even though there was no irony In the situation to begin with. There are a small handful of male guests That I feel I could get along with. I give way in the doorway For the hostess to deliver nibbles. There are a handful of female guests That I think I’d like to **** (the hostess included), But none of this allays the reluctance To step through the threshold. The hostess exits the room As I pin myself to the hallway wall, “It could be you”, I think, And try to relay this through a raised eyebrow smile That goes unnoticed. I attempt my break in Just as the conversation turns to The importance of contemporary art In modern society And the relevance of Jim Morrison’s poetry In the cerebral world of words. I search audibly for a conversation Centred around Adele’s latest album release… And I NEVER, on a good day, want to talk about THAT. In for a penny, I take the step with a fuzzy indifference And am drawn to a hand extending the offer of a spliff, And to the ***** of empty wine glass on full bottle, And a “will you, won’t you?” expression, And I trip and fall over a synthetic fur rug Lying, recumbent, too scared to take my eyes Off the pendulum light bulb that hovers above me And all I can think is that the hallway Was a much safer place to be. Copyright Marc Hawkins 2017
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