Alexander Hawkins Poems
El Cocos Locos
Morning demands different rules.
Life is a mess hidden by the patterns of public transport furnishings,
like confetti vomit or nauseating square spirals
speckled with gum, bile and worse… so much worse.
Itemising these wonders is work for us whacky folk, for whom decades
doodle on by whilst we're on the phone, twiddling with a helix-like phone cord.
Exasperated, I applaud. It's all become a bit too much.
Communication before understanding… oh, I don't understand the morning.
The Collared Dove
Let's take off all our clothes. It's time for shamelessness.
On nights of self-reflection, we go skinny-dipping with our self-perception.
We join the stars dancing on the water
and we emerge, red-skinned not red-faced. A collared dove coo-coo-coos
on nights of self-reflection. We go skinny-dipping with our self-perception
just to get away from the great greyness of being,
and we emerge red-skinned, not red-faced. A collared dove coo-coo-coos,
a sudden vivacity that jolts the unshy ai