Yesterday, as I was picking up my laundry, <br />I was hit by a stray lighting! <br />And among the sound-effects of a sub-tropical storm <br />and the applause of the raindrops on my window, <br />I heard my bones crack me jokes <br />about my sinful essence, <br />bent under the weight of years and books, <br />page after age of pornographic knowledge <br />about nothing and noone. <br /> <br />No, it was the good-morning sight of that cockroach, <br />lost between the slices of my breakfast bread <br />that made me throw up my memories <br />one by one in my kitchen sink, <br />with my Chinese neighbours’ <br />bewildered eyes for an audience, <br />and the postman’s empty sack <br />looking for an overdue letter of hope <br />addressed to me, in vain. <br /> <br />Actually, I remember now, <br />it must have been that revival tune, <br />an aboriginal busker was conjuring <br />in the central railway station subway, <br />and as the echoes in his fiery eyes touched me <br />I felt humble, insignificant, and wrong, <br />and all the perfume advert posters stared at me, <br />torn apart by random commuters in their frustration <br />and pissed on by glamorous pets. <br /> <br />No, I am sure it was that illegal joint, <br />dove-tailing across a Dutch oven <br />full of dysfunctional professors and their groupies, <br />talking to each other through text messages <br />and skyping their lust via cellophane-wrapped keyboards, <br />untouchable, unreal, uncomfortable, <br />the brewing cynicism of the cancer in me, <br />cancelling my sunny dreams <br />in midnight glasses of red wine. <br /> <br />It must have been the lighting after all...<br /><br />Niko Tiliopoulos<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/connecting-the-dots/
