18 March 2010

Posted byMarcus SleasePosted inNOMADIC TRAVEL WRITINGTags:

Primitive Pianos

I dream this city
this city this city
of primitive
pianos
icy millions tell me so
tell me tell me oh
pulled tooth
pulled tooth
that left a hole a hole
my my my
uncooked trial
a jig with Roman wrestlers
a jig with Irish diplomats
my Irish pores are breaking
into the cold green waters
the cold muddy froth
father father I hear
the turnips preparing
in their ground
by the pale muddy
waters waters
we sink like any
old stone

Published by Marcus Slease

Born in Portadown, Northern Ireland, Marcus Slease has made his home in such places as Turkey, Poland, Italy, South Korea, the United States, Spain, and the United Kingdom – experiences that inform his nomadic surrealist writing. His latest book is Never Mind the Beasts (Dostoyevsky Wannabe 2020).

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