Pink Elephants
I forget 2 days
Slip the head in a gulp, you’ve already the trunk for another. Flat frothy cloud ballooning the vision. You slurp up, belch, flatulate into a stool
Ricochet in on a stage ball, amongst the drunk. It takes endurance to hold up the elephant’s trunk, squeeze on snake-filled boots, catch the blue mice. 2 days. Enough bouncing from bar to ball it’s a show that wears out the ass of pants for accidental arseless chaps- the exercise is wasted on me. Any calm once it’s there
You sink 2 days, 100 rounds of frothy crowns- moustaches frayed, dripping fronds to lips, slapping rosy-cheeked lightweights: the wait for tremens worms, snakes, cockroaches in the sweaty windows, forgot those things, sunk from vision, every glass’s bottom left worn out
2 days the calm wore me. Fixed me something stiff, forgot me gentle drowned in a storm, open-mouthed. Forgot those things. I created a monster, woke a circus scene of frothy clowns. Begged not to be barred. THE CALM. I prayed to my face on a poster
Wore the whigs of strangers, their names as hats, gained the days of angels’ shame, forgot those things, jitters of clouds, a tree against the moonless night, confused the creatures. 2 days at least. Their faces formicate, parade, on toilet seats and musical standards, cheeks of barman, tonight still unpubbed, scoop me up in that pink trunk
Once the calm’s there. 2 days I silently repeated. Found my friend, forgot those things, gained the trunk for another
After
Palestinian by Ibrahim Nasrallah
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