Wednesday, December 23, 2020

 Wednesday, December 23rd, 2020


Why can’t slippers be cool?
True Evil
We could got to Cornwall for love, to Wales

Her daily bottle of stout
I am walking up your road
The breath thickens, there are pauses

The man who had Hermes
Alone in a cheap hotel
The smell of polished wood

Raspberries, Strawberries
Our daughter, snuffling in our bed
Four fields, all colours, and I in the cross between

The smack and heft of the perfect catch
A man called Thomas died here
Gestation Period

I have climbed that!
ECLIPSE The places where I’ve failed to grow

I dream of train-wrecks, airplanes crashing
Jennifer Nasty, in the name of Christ
The gymnast in love

It’ll end in tiers
The crude engravings on the desk
Burnt sugar, sawdust, organs, bells

Not about her father
She smelt of biscuits, milk, unusual thoughts
Dear Mother: it is New Year’s Day

No comments: