Friday, 17 May 2013

Drum Practice

If I could only

walk on grass

and wait here

for the next bell

and lose count

you were easy

to find this year

Lena a beloved sister

here I am again

digging graves

in the heat the ground is

hard

soft

when it rains

invisible crows

I felt my shoulder

strap slip down

velvety leaf

guilty of treading on daisies

Thursday of French keys

heavy with age

hang about me

and a plastic skull ring

the sound they make

in a tea-room

three volumes of

ghost stories in one

for a pound

I overheard

his cock looked like

some sort of growth

forget-me-not

bone china

what could I do?


 


 


 

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