On Looking

Underneath the ah-chez, I dreamed my dreams away…










Isn’t looking wanting? The performer dancing for a haphazard crowd wants to be looked at; she wants to be seen by this crowd but in her head is the perfect crowd, a succession of them, each one larger and more hungry than the last to see her. But now the performer sees the crowd not looking at her and so sings harder and looks over their heads, aiming her sharp smile. Still no one looks.


Hello? Love me.







Looking is 99.9% of the time waiting for gaps and cracks. The performer hasn’t seen the man with difficulties who has started dancing in front of the stage. She is looking at the domed ceiling where helium filled balloons are trying to get away. She sees how some clever algae is colourfully eating window plastic. She surreptitiously  looks at her watch as she does a movement. She looks at men in the wings as she spins; they look darkly, like devils.


Stop. Think very carefully about what you want.





She looks at the timeline in her head and judges her position on it. She looks at me and sees looking, but it was a chance glance directly into her eyes. It was a look devoid of meaning. But she has turned it into food.

I can hardly take feeling.


About grahamcliffordpoet

Graham is an award winning poet, based in London. He graduated from the University of East Anglia with an MA in Creative Writing, and has since published nationally and internationally, winning many awards and performing at some of the most prestigious and well known Literary Festivals. His debut collection, The Hitting Game, is published by Seren.
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