Monthly Archives: October 2010

Drifting

Weighted with worries

we doze and wake fitfully but

not in sync, so each thinks each

uncaringly asleep.

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Clockwork

Two children who have long left home

smiled at that silly rabbit.

Eyes lit up and gummy grins erupted

at the pull of that cord,

the crickle of clockwork that

unleashed a tinny “Frère Jacques” and set

the rabbit’s paws to covering

and revealing its cartoon eyes.

We threw away oodles of obsolete technology

but rabbit, disinterred from dust,

worked first time and

made me laugh.

….but that it pours

Do houses know they’re to be abandoned?

Is it some psychic disturbance in the soil that

makes them misbehave?

When we moved here the

boiler blew and the garage door

came off in my hand:

now we are going and the

drains back up and the roof sags

and the tills of builders ring gaily in

some sort of expiation.

Donkey’s Years

It bobs and swings, however much I strain,

sometimes close enough to

tickle my tastebuds but the

carrot never gets closer.

Usquebaugh

Dram, that felt good—

knocking it back, feeling the

peat mingle with my

earth.

Frames

The lost footage of your life

turned up, eventually:

grainy, disjointed (is there

some still missing?), but

compelling, though there was a

lack of narrative drive,

as though you had decided to

go round in circles

before you died (to baffle us?),

or maybe it was just one of your

trademark jokes, though this one was

sharp and stung like a

papercut.

Cellophane Heart

Where is the tab? the bit that

unpeals the wrapper?

Are my fingers too

big and clumsy to find it?

Or have you sealed it, so that I can’t

sully the substance

of your immaculately

cellophaned heart?

Butts

Is there an end to things? Can you feel it?

Rounded and smooth or

jagged as though broken off

roughly, or in anger?

Maybe it’s just a butt

trodden on outside some

seedy joint from which

I am excluded.

Untitled

Don’t put on the light, it
kills the mood and shows how
grey I have become and how
long a shadow a wrinkle casts.

Double-glazed Life

A single smeared-pink contrail scarred the

perfectly empty evening, but the

trucks and sirens defiled that

blissful vacuity, so I went indoors and

hurled the sash down and

slammed the inner window and

shut out the drubbling noise that

spoilt the soundless sky.

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