This is an occupation of time

This is an occupation of time
& space – my occasional cries
in pecked lines on devices – I
will not enter that fray of sub-
missions to others – I tire of it
all – Among mountain paths a
graffiti artist has left his mark
on concrete walls – This art of
stock comments comes easily
to a man with an eye for lines
of aerosol paint – in Germany
you’ll see less such artistry – I
went on to Stockholm in that
spotless fast train to meet my
Swedish Auntie [hon talar bra
engelsk] – we spoke in English
& covered nothing of worth in
slow conversation over coffee
& sugar-rich biscuits – She sat
beside her scarred lover [he’d
missed hitting his brains with
a thoughtless pull of trigger] –
Time fools us with her eyes &
counted-out slick distraction
by sleights of hand – In years –
maybe one more – I will know
about stuff – An Ethiopian [on
a bus to Montpellier] said too
much & sucked his bold tears
down in one gulp – I’ll stay as
a time-travelling man until it
comes to an expected end [in
that ticking of cold darkness –
excise each naked clock face]