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MARTIN R. JOHNSON



I'm here and here I am

seeing the insides of a house
I've never seen before we go
to live in a town without streets with lips
that scream My life's fucked-up
so I'm fucking-up yours.


Some hands going as far
as prison on a murder charge.
Failed and successful attempts
at suicide.
Knuckles feeling the warmth
of a woman's mouth.

I have a callous on my heart
twenty years thick. And my compassion's
so thin you could see your hand
through it. My patience is
an expired parking meter with
the slot covered in bird shit.

I'm here but here I am
in my new house
in a different street
in a different time
in a different town
a different man.

Don't hang up if I seem
a little vague.
Worry too much if I don't get out
the biscuits. Forget to sugar your tea.
Appear to be lost in the shadows
as I walk you to your car.

I'm getting out.
I'm on my way.
Living in rooms I still haven't seen.

What a reunion that'll be!
Who I've become a little shocked
by who I am when I move in.