Friday, 21 September 2007

Friday Prompts 0800

In the night each one of us is alone

That fucking armadillo

The book still rests in the palm of your hand

Is this acceptable?

The blind scraps are inter-weaving

Groaning, as though he was hauling the whole earth


Tea? Coffee? Knife in the back?

The hens scattering across the yard

A thorn in the side of our field

By whose ordinance?

The bitch's heart pounds in her black chest, a hammer in the ears


Until your sudden smile lingers and holds

Without the towers

A table with its shadows rises from the dust

My lover was a wonderer

Higher than the gull and the bite of the brine

Feeling the too-blue blaze of noon

They were fleeing from the bull of Bryncelyn

When the sun's on the mountain

If you ever sleep in a grave

Wheeling, and wheeling, and wheeling

Geese goose-stepping in terror, their hissing peevish from the sedges

Tugged on a tether, to the timid heifer

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