In a Kind of Exile

Nothing to expect from B

Peace treaties last only as long

As she determines when the

Irritating behavior of her spouse

Annoys her:

Warming up food in the kitchen

Without extensive ventilation

By opening the window wide.

Listening to music donning

Headphones

Whereby ignoring her scalding

Monologues.

Looking at sexy women and

Drawing his artwork accordingly.

Showering too long and being

Aroused in the titillating flow

Of single spays.

Perhaps living here in a kind of

Exile.

I feel not happy but I am locked-in

To the system of unemployed

The ignored artist

Poet

Designer

Except for Mrs IRA.

 

The air in the 33m2 bedsitter

Seems to be poisoned by extreme

Dust development

Sand on the soles of our shoes.

B thinks it is from the cement works

In the industrial area nearby.

It’s like sand thrown into our eyes

Every time we have to go and buy

Groceries

Six bus stops away.

 

Transformation of Eros depicted.

Great detail of intimate parts of

Human bodies

Will build-up to autoerotic

Experiences.

The verbal spinning wheel of one’s

Spouse will thread the carpet

The artist will lie upon and

Float into his magical world

Of instant creation.

 

zoltanzelan

ZJG-POetry’18.

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