sal carter (25.03.1991 / reigate, surrey, england)
sal carter Poems
No Hope To Life
Grey street corner A frozen room Lonely bed A dying moon
Back Of Your Hand
Veins bulge upwards out of your rugged hands, criss-crossed with lines, Pumping hardworking blood around your body, Your blood, my blood,
Mohawk standing like a battle flag, Darkened eyeliner, metal-cut nose and lips, Flesh carved into words exposed on his bare back, Low slung belt, with chain heavy jeans.
The musty smell hangs weightless in the air.
The tracks scream out beneath the train.
Shot down at dawn The dew still plucking at the mud. The lions stare
I wait. Silently.
The Temple Of The Open Sky
and burn, burn, to the smoke in the sky, burn, burn, burn, the night’s a wolf’s cry,
Smoke It Away
Wake down Icy cold and unlit World spins In blank greys and golds
Junkie queen, Bored of all that she surveys, Look, that broken sheen Cracked mirror in the eyes.
Curled up, foetal. Every muscle in my body tensed against the earth. Fingers clenched. Eyes clamped shut.
Cold sky, Scudded clouds Constant grind Of broken crowds
The Poem That Rhymes With Me
o why o why o why, i really want to die, im gonna try to fly to fly into the sky
The wind greets you, as soon as you step outside, it throws litter around the street, spinning bottles in the gutter. Walking forwards, decked out in 3mm neoprene, board under one arm,
I Lie. On the dusty floor.
Stretched out, while those around me
Cheer. Or cry. Or scream.
And raise their fists aloft.
First blood from the people.
First sacrifice to the cause.
First tear in the ocean.
First leaf to fall.