74 292
Claudiu Komartin
74
Autumn Still Comes Without Us
You see, we can too, he told me,
we can feel safe too,
we can lose story lines without feeling ashamed,
we can smoke easy, hearing
the city’s breath, its sounds slowed in the cold
we can go out on the balcony and light fireworks
now syntax is a mist in which we cut down
random silhouettes, shapes that shatter in an instant
great galleons of smoke travelling east
and, with our neurotic chatter, attend
the watch someone left ticking on the handrail
as if we expect something irrefutable to come, something
that strong cables enter and exit shiny veins of black
thinking of the autumns we could have
blown our brains out hollering
hollering like hell, like after a job well done