The Map of Antarctica

Fictions for Unseen Spaces

Month: September, 2015

Paul Auster Interview



there’s too much


It’s everywhere.

On my hands,

on my side,

on my mind.

I’m drowning in the stuff.

Sometimes a miasma of rain,

others thick like oil,

It never ceases to pass

and leave me that little bit

older than before.

The Workman

I laid bricks

ontop of one another,

but failed to build a thing

other than a wall

to bang my head against,

I sat in call centres

and listened to the phones ring,

like birdsong

or a concerto,

I poured coffee

into paper cups

and handed them out to the commuters

for free,

I sat in offices

and pushed paper,

punched at keyboards,

not caring what

gobbledegook came out,

I stood in bookshops

and watched

as customers stole paperbacks,

dropping half the sci-fi section into a laundry bag,

I directed traffic

the wrong way

down one way streets,

I walked dogs

until they were exhausted,

panting and begging

for their blankets,

I projected films at angles

so that they missed

the screen,

I flipped burgers

til they were black

pieces of charcoal,

served them up

on paper plates,

And after a hard days toil,

I like nothing more than to relax with a pint,

served up by my local barman

who does a great job.



is a poem

about how brief

twilight is.

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