The Broken Back, a poem by Adam Common, poet

And there she was,
Resting on the precipice,
My broken backed beauty,
The stuffing slashed from her seats.

My poor lady,
Her burned out husk invaded;
Stolen away, raped and burned,
And left face down in a river.

She'd drowned.

I'd wept for her.
Knees were grass stained for the trek,
The same amble of the lost
That men often walk alone.

Then I returned.
To find her gone, reclaimed
By the city, the river,
That all at once broke her down.

I cried.

To feel her curves,
That rough leather, cold metal,
Steady, assuring voice
I would never hear again.

And so I raged.
Death to my pale enemy,
That thief in the bastard night.
I'd love to take your love from you!

That's all.

What more to do?
She lays as scrap, broken backed,
In some depository,
Buried with her dead brothers,

And I live on,
Rusting and cracking for her,
Rolling downhill on flat tyres,
That never quite leave the road.

Triversen #1, a poem by Adam Common

You choleric breath offends me;
Twists once happier guts
Around its vicious screws.

Your relentless mard-arsed stare
Burns only at the walls,
And creeps heat through the edges.

Fidgeting work hewn fingers
Plays tiny little moves
In a pointless, losing game.

Daylight quickly fails.
Sentiment follows the sun,
Vanishing beyond the horizon.

Four in the morning sprints close.
Bundled quilt between us.
I sense your eyes still open.

Nothing good comes of silence.
Our apologies rankle and itch,
Bothering our stubborn bones.

Exhaustion leads to sleep.
Dreams of a phantom always;
A promise meant to keep.

Morning light repairs all wounds.

The bitter engine out of gas, so

We're back to smiles and kisses.

We heal strong, once our vexing love
Has blown an angry load
That turns waning days to ash.

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