Poems from the Vault

There is just a small time passing,
Between waiting for the next day
And forgetting the last

A brief interlude, composed of a little noise
Shallow air that’s spoken only through cigarettes
And by light from under the door

And sometimes there’s a radio or a TV,
And sometimes a conversation
Dying along the windowpane

Yet usually for us it’s the same,
The few of us who witness,
Those who lie on beds and stare up at the ceiling
Who dream of earthquakes
And of wining the smallest of victories

Like falling asleep and not finding the same day
Waiting for us, at the end.


Author: jameskramerblog

James Kramer is a fiction writer currently based in Beijing. His writing has appeared in Your Impossible Voice, as well as various Poetry anthologies. He currently writes a monthly-ish column for LeftLion magazine on China.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s