Sunday, 14 April 2013

Tight Thin Wedge


It takes half an hour to get anywhere

here blood's the choice proof of size

for target practice

for target practice

fear has an image

one hundred forgottens slide

out the frame

try and ignore her

blaming the moon

for being that brilliant

such a responsibility

of first steps in a dance

on the fault line

on the fault line

we had tails then

holding hands twin-anemone

I'll lead and let go

kiss you goodbye and drop

stringy meat you've never

felt a thing

did you follow me in look

something animal shape

low before I turn around

and saw the dainty shoes

on a prosthetic limb girl

neat meccano through St. Pancras

ballet slipper bow

bolted through the foot to rooms

where the drains are up again

good news would be

if man saw an island

if man saw an island

turned round

and never went back

believing what I read on toilet walls

rehearsals for war

rehearsals for war

like out on Foulness Island

authorised personnel in regulation overalls

chart explosions safely in their place

fog down on visitor day

they photographed us

for the future

for the future

play me a dirge

pain-killer generation

that's a dead poem


of a thin chronic screech

break the glamour curse

shouting cold

shouting cold

bricked in with an audience

till we go home in stages

and I crave nostalgic comfort

from the elegant woman

who plugs the kitchen sink

her dance card full of lime scale

feeling the cliff edge in a playground

my scream unfinished

in the delivery room screaming's permitted


fifteen before midnight

hose clean the air

twin across the table

given permission to leave early

in the dark

in the dark

I tasted something you left me

some fish fire ink

in fear

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