They are listening in the wires, in the walls, under the eaves in the wings of house martins, in the ears of old women, in the mouths of children.
They are listening to this now.
So let's hear it for the secret police, a much misunderstood minority. After all, they have their rights, their own particular ways of seeing things, saying things, cooking things, they too have a culture uniquely their own.
; And we think
they should have their own state where they could speak their own incomprehensible tongues, write their confessions, their own unknown histories, cultivate their habits of watching by watching each other, and fly their own flags there, at attention on parade in their medals at their monuments on their secret anniversaries, making speeches, singing praises to the God of Paranoia. And at the end of the day bury their dead, publish coded obituaries to each other, and rest at last in their own kind of peace, forever.
- by Ken Smith37
one thing then another
one story then another conversation always interrupted by another conversation
I want the words to barely glaze the page gone the moment of their utterance
as we are
in back of this a story a man with his face with his name exile emigrant refugee displaced person outsider offcomerdon stranger suspect the terms interchangeable politically undesireable a story of a man who leaves his country
and the woman he loves
and the story of why
and her story
they never meet again that's it that's all of it
far away she hears in the night street footsteps footsteps stop when she stops go on when she goes on from the dark in back of her she hears
I can see you I can see you Sammy Sammy Sammy Sammy I can see you far away she must go on far away he must go on
Poems by Ken Smith, Ken Smith's poems collection. Ken Smith is a classical and famous poet (1938 - 2003). Share all poems of Ken Smith.