clear plastic

Clear plastic, nothing else exists in the restaurant when art does, the birth parents, the dumb toothless workers, skinheads buying babies, unmentioned sex-therapy in glass topped phrases, stressed and sensitive, he doesn’t fit, imperfect geeky cigarette over lunch, fiddling with the white columns in the Melbor packet, spotty dresses translucent on the fa├žade talk into consoles, outside, museums of leaving people, departures, valedictory glances, feigned smiles, French stuff killing me, pastries, head sized, rotate on the table, a dog slavors the other side of the muted window, dogshit and white stilettos, fountains of the tourist, of the lost camera lenses, baroque scarves surround art twat throats, beer and wire-rimmed spectacles, confusion, beige boots and pulse eyes in a hackneyed face blur along the pavement, the hum of the mono as it emerges from subterranean terminal and slides along at street level, a miming mouth recognises someone as the mono is slaked in operative words, muscles, arteries carved out of wood, just a cosy lunch and a feint to the man, the woman of the verts, office babies eat fish opposite me, bald, wrinkled, changing minds at the counter, angry emails flash between their eyes, pulsating veins wrapped in fur lined coats, barbarians at the buffet, feather horns retrieve their hats from the ceiling, anxiety, sternum itches, irritant scabs cushion the console, crusted stains on the blue shirt that covers it, distract myself and listen to some lip-glossed dialogue, occipital lobes light up under transparent skulls, cookies in the shape of old time trains, fake shaker furniture flux on my receipt, names on chains, uniformed officials, red haired screaming melted yellow ducks, the life, the literal consumerholic love, that love, love, it’s my fault, shouldn’t be here…

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