ONE, TWO, THREE
Edo rolls out of bed, apologizing for the midnight disturbance.
A phone ring is muffled or he hums gently in the distance.
You estimate a time it could be and when you should get up, until the fear seizes you from behind.
Feet rest on the white carpet.
One egg cracks near perfect, two bright yolks slip into the pan.
They ogle you as an old lady might when on your way.
Coffee is oversized and underwhelming, the weather snubbed.
You catch the trees shaking their hands above their heads, tongues out.
Laughing as you brush your teeth in front of the mirror.
Upon reflection, one half of your face has slipped, lowly beneath the other.
Where you once had two half faces, there is now a half third.
These faces can’t exist all together.
You decide the world has deranged into something else.
You belong to what was — and what may no longer be.
But when did you slip into the in-between. Has your face changed or the world around it.
This morning you woke up humming, sleep had held you in her hands.
Your hair was tangled in the white carpet, as limbo raged below.
Stranger presents, Ben Sims, at Brown Alley on Friday October 25th
Haven’t we got something?
The prized wine of a winemaker, an Essex rascal — DJ Ben Sims.
He is responsible for your rediscovery of sound, if you weren’t paying attention.
The b boy of Hardgroove, living in Surrey.
An Oldschool head who beats heart into the dance floor.
The village of Britons is coming.
We don’t do minimal.
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