The man without a past or a future

Patterings on my window.
A letter from France,
A postcard from London,
A flask from Scotland.
Yet I turned to
a clock I bought from a local convenience store,
Thinking I am going to be late
for another karaoke date.

Noise of a vacuum cleaner permeated from the corridor
As I learned how sound deteriorates exponentially –
maybe that’s why I harkened whispers in a foreign language
but let shouts of my mothertoungue slip.

another night of small talk.
and I tried to find a topic
from the bottom of the bottle.
But all there was
was the last few drops which wouldn’t come out.

So stop asking me
“do you care”
just teach me how.


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