Martin Lochner comes from Cape Town,South Africa. He spend most of his leisure days in town observing the city life and goes home to compose his work. As expected: 00h00
1
I denied you a “turn around” with a telecom nickel in the slot
destroying us through the greasy worn receiver ,
etching feelings that carved through the static speaker
I had a slashing thirty minutes with you and a queuing,
old bitch complaining about the cold and the verbal abuse
2
An inflammation of feeling stains the road, the fields and the river
“How could you “
“How could you “
Gruesome sad blues turns into a stretching, elastic feeling
of black, every fucking city colour drowning morbidly into its swell
dark, stumbling, loitering for another empty booth
3
Detonating fear through hoarse ambulances, police and kids
looking through dirty curtains crying
“where are you now “
“Where are you now “
4
The nickel falls, hits the stainless steel belly flat
it makes a bad sound that says “Clank”
The phone never rings
it’s disconnected, it peeps...peeps
She is with him
5
(He is fucking her)