BANI HAYKAL

bani haykal writes and performs music and spoken word. he is
the singer of b-quartet and his works are never quite consistent.
he likes cold cereal. he runs a rather ridiculously boring site
where he does practically f*** all. he has one officially published
book, Sit Quietly In The Flood, which contains some of his works
collected over the years, but other self-published works which he
considers a little bit more "me" could be found at his site. and he
also loves chocolates.

---

Weatherpeople of Patience

17

inside this
rather cumberlonesome
cage where the only notes
crying out
are clumsy plonking of tongue
on teeth, i sit be
fore the television set tasting
soap suds and cheap imitations
of food and furniture pouring
designed sincerity into me.

the time bomb is set
against a landscape of broken
sunsets and smiling children and
nighttime sets forth disasters,
or bizarre replicas of places
i've walked along and people i've
met. yet because i am missing
the hand and fingers my teeth are
familiar with, the encounters
of being terribly stupid
aren't worth it.






18

my legs are soaked in piano keys
and strung ; i struck
a key a sound a note a song
goes playing
this subconscious stream
i am swimming
by the shallow end.

evening is by the coast
where i sat in contentment
flirting with spasms as it responded
had me twitching whilst i
slipped on your smile
in my head i saw us
disappearing drowning
through alleys
muddy with thoughts
{that} you had patches of library books
pages thin as eye lashes
curling are the edges folding
wrapping like creepers
by
the
backyard
i've forgotten about the garden
i'm sorry.

if it swallows us
this lawn of ours
lay back with eyes closing
like late shops by midnight.
please amplify me through your last whispers
i'll have a line to catch them
and i promise it won't slip away
like i to your
smiles.

you are
ringing of vibraphones
perhaps a glockenspiel
counters of impeccable registered
keys
a constant
anti-sorrow in pitfalls of plights
when i drop
you ( lift
and when you
are )
i ;
oui
standstill.






19

you place a bookmark between
radio programmes as we drive along
the coast in our stolen convertible. ( instead

i remembered telling you that it was a gift from
a friend.) you shed a layer of yourself off and you were
breaking down. i blame the radio.

no one had control.
i had peanut butter and strawberry
jam whilst driving. you took mine
and finished it. i smile.

and for a brief moment
i did not need anything
or anyone else. everything
that did or could have
existed, diminished.






20

the drizzling sparkshuttering against
cracked window pane; it almost is as
iffing the rain
drops were meant to pit
patter on my face.
but the currents (currently
overflowing) cascading chair water
falls along this treacherous mig
rane, ran, ra
pidly leaving me life
less with
out (a) lifejacket. through
thoughts i meander along rain
drops dropping
on the last light flickering
in a dark passageway between fin
gern ails and skin
stitched to a (smile) dim in
this dankly lit space of abuse, she,
running musings
in our flailing engineering circles
of misinforming, the ringleaders
are (towering) skyscrapers of justly
nothing, these rain
drops are scarce forming, a neutral
distortion wade flimsy fear forming
on the beady eyed members of
the court. and yet with all this
turbulence (over our heads), we
weatherpeople of patience sit
quietly in the flood.

Back to Front.