:: Article

Long Distance & other poems

By Adam Napier.

Sunday

Turning heads has become
my new hobby since it’s as
easy as holding your hand.
In the mid-morning down

pour of Nissans pathetic
fallacy seems like it sounds.
Can you feel it? Your fringe
gaping in the 60mph breath –

like those hatchbacks have
lungs – and that taste in my
mouth that toothpaste couldn’t
brush off, those five (to seven)

calories of you swimming in
my empty stomach. I feel so
whole. I can tell you that. I
can

look at
them through their
wound up windows, their
spiritual red bull damp on their
teeth. I can see them in their

safety almost. Having snatched
their pick-me-up shot of comfort.
Can you feel it? My hand jammed
tight to your thigh.

Say This Ten Times Fast

You can’t help but get Pac-Man
mouth
when
we
kiss like this: open in your kitchen.
The kettle’s talking to us; its speech
bubbles
burning
like
that cig in the ashtray. Pick it up

before it puffs out anymore clouds, they’re
condensing around our conversation. These
domestic blimps product-placing in my ears while
I’m trying to make a milky constellation in your tea.
(Should I read the leaves?)
I can’t help

but hear it. Your noisy
prophecy cannibalising the silence
fat with its etcs.

Long Distance

He found love (at last)
at the end
of the hyperlink. It was
in her pixel
pale complexion. It was
in the quiet
clicking mouse. It was
in his glass
wrist wasn’t it?

ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Adam Napier is a college student in Newcastle, England, who has been writing poetry and prose since his teenage years. He’s previously appeared (or is forthcoming in) The Delinquent, The Cadaverine, The Crocodile Journal and Forward Poetry’s Inspired anthology.

First published in 3:AM Magazine: Saturday, March 9th, 2013.