Wednesday, August 23, 2017

James Walton #69 Salt and Vinegar Please

Some things aren’t a colour
but more like that misty fetish
when you peel a mandarine,
and a fog from Rumi’s pool
takes a moment out of the air.

The world is stalled on an errand
by a pithy beguile of wobble
a then coming back forever,
webbed over and through
a honeycomb lacquered with it.

Leaving you espaliered on a smile
warm bricks against your back
out front the crisp ironed world,
has winter in a laminate
as perfect as the first hot chip.

Your scalded tongue
mouthing more.


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