talking in code

I was in a bar full of people with name tags stuck to their breasts.
Suited, they were.
Wearing fitted shirts.
Shoes, leather.
Leather and shiny.
Freshly buffed?

Creases running ankle to crouch,
the trousers,
who’s pockets jingle jangled with coins, tokens.

Silver and gold.

White badges with their names.
I didn’t recognise the font.
Their name.
Underneath more writing,
more typing.
A company name?
I don’t know.
They were talking, loud.

Talking in code I think.

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2 comments

  1. multiplemichael

    yesterday your perception was richer before the melancholy
    mainstream bar of life addicts of booze minutes before the highways
    did you have a continuous name tag ? seven inches including folk art
    epidermis inside a fitted shirt the question open
    you were an engaged spectator
    deep in the concrete jungle
    …………a gateway ? ……………………….
    the slap of surface reality
    *coins were going to crowd out the words
    tokens to touch with your fingertips
    gold was human silver de’ animals
    coins do not simply exist side by side
    your sensitivity is never passive
    you’ve been to the cinema you know how secret agents behave
    you shape the raw material
    grace and beauty: harmony balance proportion unity
    suppressing the FLAMES

    Like

  2. multiplemichael

    who was the woman on the phone who said that she relinquishes her hold on your seven inches with folk art ?
    name tags are always about penis envy
    the nurse in the delivery room looks first for a name tag
    dreams about name tags floating in the red flood
    the TRAJECTORY of a name tag……….correct name tags maintain a relationship with reality
    the lack of a name tag is entirely irrational
    substitutive names ?
    full-face jokes not on my shift
    self-observation leads to self-criticism
    delusions of being watched
    delusions of being noticed
    cradle-song baby boy
    name tag overestimation

    Like

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