Chris Grundy Poet Bio

Platform 3

One million memories are circling around my form,
Shouting and laughing and complaining just being,
Average cause its expected and planned just easy.
I am shaking, exhausted and drenched in bags, but happy, 
Leaning now, alone, against the comforting wall,
On grey platform 3, 

Waiting, with shadows, on the marauding, hollering shell,
To take me home away from homeless hell.

People, reduced to sensations; bumps and touches 
But shadows, 
And the beat of my approval still thumps, in the mind.
Smells become the birth certificates of the blurry, 
Shampoo and deodorant and cologne, past me they hurry.
You can taste their lives, just open your eyes. 

Happy people, unhappy humans, defeated beings
Bumping, embracing and colliding 
In years of frenzied history, 
As people run along windows,
Humans wave goodbye and 
Beings vanish in the steam of memories.

I confiscate their lives and make them my own,
As my imagination exults in life’s candy store.
My lungs tremble with the beauty of beings.
Expelling the defeated, no room for weakness.
The resilient and me, have already swallowed 
Plenty of white teeth in our quest for strength, 
I am never alone, but rarely followed.

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