poetryrepairs #205 14.10:109
VERNON WARING : Someone's Staring
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Someone's Staring
Someone's staring at me right now here on this subway his eyes have not left mine he looks crazy and nervous a young guy a twitchy-looking young guy I have a feeling he's going to jump me or rob me maybe shoot me or stab me he's probably looking for money for a fix he's going to follow me off this fucking subway car and then he's going to slit my throat and throw me on the tracks this fucked-up drug addict is going to kill me and buy some heroin or crack or whatever these fucking jerkoffs buy to get high and he's going to leave me on a subway track with blood streaming out of my neck my mouth a pool of blood he's waiting for me to get off here at the spring garden stop well fuck you my wild-eyed doped-up piece of shit I won't get off here wait a minute... he just got off here† alone and the door closed I see him running up the steps probably to catch a bus or kill someone on the street thank god he's gone I was sure he was going to knife me I had it all figured the hell out I even stayed in this piss-ridden rat hole of a subway car and now this means I have to get off at the next stop and go over to the other side of the station and take another subway back to the spring garden stop I have totally fucked up I talked myself out of getting off at my stop and now I'm totally fucked I've got to stop thinking like this this paranoid shit is taking its toll it tricks me confuses me frightens me I have to be calm now just get ahold of myself I'm standing up to get off at the next stop now I'm by the door what's going on here I just noticed two guys sitting over there just a few seats down on the left and they're looking at me one's got a scar on the side of his face a mile long these guys are trouble the other one just put his hand in his pocket like he's got a gun or something holy shit! I've got to get off maybe my mind's just playing tricks on me I don't know what to think I'll just stand here by the door the stop's coming up christ! they just got up and they're walking toward me and now they're standing behind me I can see their reflection in the door's glass I can almost feel one of them breathing on the back of my neck I'm trapped now...nowhere to go...nowhere! the door's opening and I step out into the dark I'm a dead man

poetryrepairs #205 14.10:109

All the fine arts are species of poetry--Samuel Taylor Coleridge

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even as it splits it open.
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3 a.m.
CAROLE NELSON PHILLIPS Itís so beige darlin, everythingís the colour of crepe bandages, vertical blinds hang over bars just liquorice straps of night can be seen nothingís shiny except the arched chrome tap, flower head bending in sorrow over the porcelain bowl the wardís quiet, I lie lonely with the taste of charcoal thinking of the distance between steel & rivers cathedrals & kowhai

poetryrepairs #205 14.10:109

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poetryrepairs #205 14.10:109

Poetry endangers the established order
of the soul - Plato

REPAIR: resort, frequent or habitual going; concourse or confluence of people at or in a place; making one's way; to go, betake oneself, to arrive; return to a place; to dwell; to recover, heal, or cure; to renew; to fix to original condition. -- O.E.D.


VERNON WARING : Someone's Staring

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