Foreign Static
November 11, 2008 rosspoetvassilev
by Andrew Taylor
Room 20 Hotel
Engerland, Amsterdam.
The double bed facing
the bathroom and the
TV perched above,
humming quietly
with foreign static.
The desk, behind
the headboard-
raised and the
view across the
street from the
alcove window.
A place to rest
our heads as we
get away from
it all for five days.
Leave Rick’s poems
on the desk
for when the need
arises. Put them
next to The Dead
Sea Poems.
*
Help me find my
safe spot – the
cool bathroom
with equally
cool tiles – as
my heart beats
far too fast and
my mind
drifts from
East to West
Premonitions and
fright as the fear
grips my soul and
twists me through
180 degrees
‘Hush, it’s going
to be alright’
I don’t believe
her as the tears
roll down her
scared face
like blood
from a crown
of thorns
5mg of Valium
to calm the
racing heart
‘What about
the soul?’
I cry Try
and embrace
the comforts of
my madness
as I twitch
and shiver
on the cool
cotton sheets
her bedside lamp
casts a glow
around her head
like Gabriel’s halo
as I shuffle
towards the safe spot
she follows me in
as I splash cold
water onto a face
torn from reality
Do I really look
this bad? Will I
always be like
this? What does
she see in me?
Why is it that
it is her here?
I don’t follow the
path that leads
back to my parents
safe in their bed
not knowing of
the Hell I am in
it’s too dangerous
a place to go
‘Can I switch
the light off
now? I’ll switch
it on if you get
scared’
lying on my back
listening to the
splinters of rain
bouncing off car
roofs.
***
Breakfast and the
omelette and coffee
are hitting the spot.
Back in room 20I
ease back listening to
Kent‘s Isola and am
transported to a world
where I would visit again.
Andrew Taylor is co-editor and publisher of erbacce and erbacce-press (http://www.erbacce.com/), based in Liverpool, UK. www.myspace.com/andrewtaylorpoetry
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