Imaginary Disasters
a poem
Her voice is like rubble
A gem enclosed in rusted iron
Silk underneath a bed of dirt
Soft-ha:
“To make a record that would help a certain type of person not feel alone. People who were like me, different … I wasn’t targeting the whole world. I wasn’t trying to make a hit record.”
soft, hard, hard, hard
Very lovely indeed when she comes
Over for another cup of tea or coffee
Whatever you like, seriously, it’s on me
Everything you see here is free
I swear upon God that I do not believe
“Haha, yes you are right, it is easy for me”
To never believe in anything; I am a man of my word
A man who never speaks,
So you could see how awkward it was for us to spend some time
There, in utter silence with nothing to talk about or see
A degree of bias. I wanted to be a free man — just for her — just for one split second
To see if she would, in fact, flee from the chains of my imaginary disasters.
