Saturday, 9 November 2013

Into a time the colour of Hamlet.

Adieu defeated light, farewell dangerous leaves;
let silent foes night-dream, let them clatter
to fill the vacuum, as distant stars defeat hope.

Clouds drift, a hand trails across the bed,
the way a leaf slides along concrete,
outside the drawn, quartered, window
old men and women, water precise gardens,
sleep in little rows neat as Noddy’s street.

An empty page flutters for redemption
a voice utters hoarse recital; moon hears
not the plea. Muse sleeps in thorny bower,
Trickster shadows play at inspiration, cause nib 
to scratch at white paper - as useful
as childhood hands at summer’s mosquito bites.

Voices, faces, December memories - carnival of lights
glittering ‘Jesus Saves!’ - knowing he does no such thing,
not in these moments, not to these words.

Weight, waves, sounds, ripples,
gratuitous music; scared bodies make whoopee -
churn milk into rancid butter.

Sleep, a net, particles of skin, the fish, redemption, 
a cell’s unique ability to reinvent itself so that 
every seven years we pretend to be someone different.

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