This week we are featuring the work of contemporary poet Nadia Khomami.

Ben Crosby

A two-stepping street romancer,
prancing along the gravelled bank like a modern day Ben Crosby,
calls the world pedantic and himself, a voyant.
Chasing it up the wall and down along the pavement, to prolong the penniless torment, the near crooked homeless london’s sickening ferment.
The late night restless river Thames courses through my disbelief and the reliefs of an affected, half-afflicted youth.
Late night drear Dickensian shadows dwarf in on what’s worthwhile,
or each attempt to reconcile
my ‘stylish writing’ as he phrased it, with his rhymes of cruel contempt.
My facebook chat, he says, has completely messed up, and one day I will miss the meaning of the world, the tightening embrace of goodbye and the locked up, fucked up desire to belong.

This entry was tagged as Nadia Khomami.