Conceptual poem experiment

Touching Things

1

An envelope
The  door handle
The key
The button
The door
The button
The door
Another door
The button
A door
Another door
A button
Another door
A different envelope
The money
The envelope
Then the key and a door
A button
A door
A door
The handrail on the stairs
The key
The door
The door
The door
Then the money again

2

A card
A door
A chair
A table
A coin
I brushed a palm
They brushed mine
More coins
A glass
A laptop
A book
Words words, no not words
A glass
The cold, no that touches me
A glass
A glass
A toilet

I’m trying to think back
To all those old selves, dead selves
I have shed those touched skins
Pelts that pleased
I am wondering who last brushed this self
That man who kicked my heel getting on the bus?
That khaki shoulder, fur trimmed eskimo that whipped past me?
All wrapped up, insulating their bareness, barrenness
No others no others
I am married to doors and buttons
Wedded to change and plastic
Flesh is only a whisper
A wisp-wisp of currency
No sparks, only crinkled paper
Just dull disc connectors in the circuit of tired faces

I pay for my lack of intimacies

I pay
I pay
no surrender
Empty glass
Door
Button
Door
wait for blackness
wait for silence
wait wait
Door
Button
Door

 

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