Tuesday, December 6, 2016

Robert Verdon, #379, high and wild

nails ripped out, a glissando of them

wind comes cantering across the new potato fields

a howitzer digging foxholes for the invaders

tripping moist on the hills, picking out sweat on the temples

offal and bullets on the wind tonight

I shall stay home

broken glass mother

whipping pearl necklaces in the apple trees

unnatural spring

nacreous harp of sun under the oldest branches

life warbles on

open-mouthed in a palladium

the prisoner’s cinema, showing at eight

gangrenous towers, knitted skeletons, ripe knuckled hedgerows, terminal friends, bone cancer churches, cats left uncared for, wooden lives, russet blowflies, frosty nostrums, sooky kookaburras, Vladimir Vein and the Vampires, ocelot nighties, people who have died standing up, fetters grinding like kneecaps

blue honey, blue I am

don’t tell me I’m sweet

as blackberry jam

let us go then, you and I

dawn spreadeagle across the sky


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