Monday, September 26, 2016

Robert Verdon, #310, Imaginary Friend


Up comes
the egg-whiteas a fish’s eye
sun.
I call you
from my fancied
roost.
party line,
Like Enid Blyton
summoning
the weather clerk …
The phone’s
a new-laid egg —
Smooth, warm
and fouled.

Its yolk is yellower
Than the sun.
Its dial tone
pecks at your silence.

Within the shell,
I hear
you brood
about me.
Like a clandestine
radio.
I roll your
addled memory
into place
Like a tramp’s cigarette.
Up comes
The binding
glow -

You hold me
in,
A weightedshadow
embryo.

But cloaca-fresh
the phone
still bears
my breath
alone.
Posted by at

4 comments:

  1. UnknownSeptember 26, 2016 at 11:03 PM

    Oh I like it - strange and quirky but with a dark under-tone (tone! Get it?! Ha ha)

    ReplyDelete
  2. Robert VerdonSeptember 27, 2016 at 7:30 AM

    This is actually a very old unpublished poem — couldn't think of a decent second contribution yesterday!

    ReplyDelete
  3. Kit KelenSeptember 27, 2016 at 10:57 AM

    the solipsism thread is weaving

    ReplyDelete
  4. Béatrice MACHETSeptember 27, 2016 at 8:02 PM

    might be old... i enjoy it anyway, suggestive and imaginative!

    ReplyDelete

Note: Only a member of this blog may post a comment.

Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom)