I'm standing on this corner
Can't get their attention
Facing rush hour faces turned around
I clutch my stack of paper, press one to a chest,
then watch it swoop and stutter to the ground
I'm weary with right-angles, abbreviated daylight,
and waiting for a winter to be done
Why do I still see you in every mirrored window,
in all that I could never overcome?
How I don't know what I should do with my hands when I talk to you
How you don't know where you should look, so you look at my hands
How movements rise and then dissolve, melted by our shallow breath
How causes dance away from me
I am your pamphleteer
I walk this room in time to the beat of the Gestetner,
contemplate my next communique
The rhetoric and treason of saying that I'll miss you
Of saying "Hey, well maybe you should stay"
Sing "Oh what force on earth could be weaker than the feeble strength of one"
like me remembering the way it could have been
Help me with this barricade
No surrender No defeat
A spectre's haunting Albert Street
I am your pamphleteer