The eastern people
bring the cold
and I think surely,
if you wish for death,
living should be easy.
It is just the living that makes me frightened
so, so scared

I keep drinking and look at the queues of people.
Rappongi keeps calling to me.

The way that Hamburg still does
after all these years.
Men pass with words,
Western words on their trousers.
A bell sounds in my ears
then pure rhythm.

About the Poet

Marc Carver has been writing poetry in his mind all his life, but he began putting it down on paper about two years ago. Four books and fifty or so performances later, he feels confident about writing for the page and performing in the London poetry scene. His books can be found on