Benno Barnard Poems

We stand here freezing in our winter coats,
a kiss prevents my breath from showing white,
my hand slows to a halt in mid caress,
...

We talk until we see the morning double.
The bar is spinning from the cigarettes.
...

When I tell her my lies,
her carnivorous mouth
gobbles my words like flies
...

We,
sightless voyeurs under the petticoats
of the heavens,
...

The boxes for chips and bananas
are packed with the bric-à-brac
of human memory:
...

We were in our old house, the two of us.
Paris was burning in hundreds of fires:
ash from a hecatomb of smoldering tires
...