Seven Days, K.R.

7 Days
When in Rome
Note @ Monterosso al Mare
Three of these poems will be feature on “The Atlantic”,
the upcoming 17th booklet of the K.R. series.
7 Days

In 7 days everything will

Be exactly the same

As it was, before I left,

before the flood created
the Atlantic, before 15
minutes turned into a
4 and a ½ time difference.

On the plane I’ll see your town,

I’ll see your house, I’ll see street lights,
Fireflies leashed to beanstalks,
I’ll get excited -

and I’ll be excited for the first bit,

until everything again turns to shit,
and I’ll wonder why I was in such
a hurry to leave Italy.

There’s an echo in Florence,

and no sound came before it,
but that’s the same way things
are back home.

That’s the way we left things back home.

I’ve never been good for too long on my own.

When in Rome

I could hardly keep myself in,

I felt the heat rash coming from
the opposite side, bubbles forming
underneath my skin.

That’s a simple way to describe it,

I’ve done it again, a metaphor that
goes well over my own head.

Sleep could fix it,

I napped the whole week,
some call that a coma,
I call it well needed.

I was never going to be more than average,

that was a dream,
a very savage dream.
Note @ Monterosso al Mare

Nothing left.

Depending on the context,

it's either everything stayed,
or everything went.