where is your soul? it is (in) my whole body, like a circle in a poem
or a song
“where you heading, little lamb?” my grandpa used to sing
you’re in this circle; what’s it made of? what do you see?
I can’t see anything but emptiness and silence and it’s not me, it’s me at 12 years old
and I can’t see my face but you can
I’m alone with the circle right in the middle of it; it’s drawn on a wooden floor, maybe walnut
and it gravitates like a planet around the sun, this floor floats in space like I used to float in my dreams above the houses
my face is my soul my whole body and in this circle there’s just a tiny figure that I imagine being me
bobby is smoking his cigarette outside the shop he’s got
tattoos from god knows what ancient time what is your dream?
I could live anywhere in a big city in a small farm in the countryside in the mountains at the seaside I really don’t care I could travel to your dream place bobby has his name tattooed on his neck
bobby has these insecurities like dodgy off-licence shops
in bethnal green which is la great area lovely atmosphere
you came to me whispering I heard you wrote some poems like a drug dealer would ask you want some dope? my hands were shaking I said sure anytime you want but then I realized what if you don’t what if I’m still waiting
your laugh was so genuine I haven’t heard anyone laugh like that in a very long time
bobby doesn’t have a car
he used to drive when he was younger now he’s taking the train
priority seats what is your dream now?