Charlotte Faber

CROSS WIRES

And all the world
stops
         for one last moment
Sucking on the chord of
illusion
The breath in my mouth hardens
stoppers up the flesh
Now the sharp prong of your WHY
digs its heels into
the cavity
A slow backwards dance
between your saline limbs
How does one begin to
untangle the numerous sinews of your
cheek?
Sucker punch to the jaw and
we’ll all begin spewing
bullshit
Enunciate and revolt
till our gums
are
raw

from METALLURGY

The ache and grind
of London
Composite larvae
that pulls
the metal gears.
Click down into daily life.
Daily thrum –
                 a hubbub,          vibration
of the ear drum.
Life exists between rails,
pattering amongst tattered
papers
and yesterday’s dinner.
We are all food for another day.
The best of you could not be contained
on my one small page.
Squashed between spaces
was never your style.
Primal lust sleeps beneath the bridges
and I
                breathe

                in.

*

The road moans of
East 5th Street.
Quiet husk of humanity
drains on the
precocious.
Scintillating dogma of your
NeverLand.
You left in the morning –
the 6.20 to Harbledown.
I never took you for a
private sinner.
The masochist right
has yet to be instated.

from SALT

Eastern wind haunts the skin
ripples
Erudition of the flesh.
A faint quell in the underscore
of your rhythmic tattling.
We waste our time
beneath
tobacco wreathes.
You,
puffing out monstrous ideas.
Seek to ignite
but all they do is smoke.
Burnt embers in a false-start revolution.
The ones who came first.
They revelled in your acronyms,
your palsy,
despotic noise.
And we forever rushing towards that
escape gate
scapegoat.
Flushing out God’s children.
He left them in the desert
to feed off
rain.
The colicky and young
following ancient paths.
But we’ve been here before,
You and I.
die jüdische Welt Feind.
Eternal world’s enemy.

*

Fill up shoes with ancient stones
You’ve come to a standstill.
The end of the summer seasons
is melting
                 down
                        the
                           glass.
London’s burning, London’s burning.
Enduring the East End smut,
cramming fists with memorabilia
of your Promised Deutschland.
Pour on water
Numb yourself
over London Bridge.
The sirens aren’t enough to call you back.
Closeted and stashed in
corrugated metal -
keep holding on
to that
Nobody’s Home.
Our dreams are city-bound.
Fetch the engines, fetch the engines.
London’s burning
                        down.

*

I missed you last night
as you got on your train
to take you where
the fleeting ones go.
The hot dusk
sprang up
in the wake of your
parting.
Forget your pillowcase,
meine Liebe.
We’re going down.
We’ll tie it all up in brown
paper string;
Our prescription respirators.

SEE THAT THE RUBBER FITS SNUGLY
               AT SIDES OF JAW
                           AND
                  UNDER CHIN.

All the right ones will come before
but You and I
have reservations
here.

Charlotte Faber lives in Greater London and studied English Literature and Creative Writing at the University of Kent. Other extracts from her first complete collection of poems, Salt, were printed in Shearsman 97 & 98. She is currently working on her second collection.