remainders

Remainders . pic

 

I’m looking back on words that spoke to me of

tight spring buds seen through small panes of glass

that drew a stark cartoon against an insipid green

and me embroiled in warm sheets thinking of how

time makes a sketch of history and each craven itch

is always in need of recognition from the void,

the slipstream  of life’s urges

that simple sense of loss that has claws

leaving bite-marks and bruises on cooling flesh

unwittingly, urgently, moving toward the freezer door

and men in sombre suits patrolling next to slow moving black cars

stickmen immune to vanity whose shapes are not prisoners

as they populate the space containing them

and give it substance

and I keep looking back on words that speak to me

as they come back to life cleansed by the soil they were steeped -in

unmoved by history, their romance always in the present tense

all these tidal sounds carouse with me

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s