not always, just life

Whilst you are reading this
someone collects a pension, child support.
Someone queues for greasy McDonalds,
a heart attack in the hospital bed.
A teen takes their first sip
of syrupy, sugar alcopop, an old man
raises a glass and drinks whiskey
to fallen comrades. Baby drinks milk
from a sippy cup.
Every second, mothers try to pursuade
young ones to eat their greens, mothers
try to pursuade their daughters to eat
anything.
A man thrusts glass in another's face,
a caterpillar escapes from a cocoon and
flutters on stained glass wings,
a believer kneels to pray.
In that split second just then, dogs
chase after the hare, frantic businessmen
chase buses. Red pens trace lines,
lines across a mirror face. People fall,
get up, babies and grown men learn to walk.
Nurses inject morphine, people inject morphine,
needles pierce purple veins for every condition.
The grip of a newborn wrapped around dad's finger
slack hand of a grandma surrounded my family.
Fingertips press on computer keys, violin strings
the lips of lovers. Intellectuals read 'The Cherry Orchard'
blossoms gather in piles on street corners,
Chinatown smells of seaweed and spicy soup.
Life is always going on, regardless of you.




i am nowhere near as good as brian bartlett
but this is my attempt at brian bartlett.
one day i will be a good writer
the kind that people talk about at art galleries and buy my books and get sad that i'm wasting my life living in myself and drinking
occasionally i'll come out and give interviews and look blue
and people will rave and it won't be as good as they say but it will be good.

suggestions/alterations/improvements welcome.