Thursday, April 2, 2020

Tug Dumbly - Still Life


Still Life

The straightaway sad      
of a just vacated room   

the meekly crook’d neck
of the desk lamp, absolving

the collapsed grey veins        
of the carpet

the tired rape of the curtain     
ripped back over again

Mongol face of the power socket
starving to receive

light switch grimed 
with the history of a sticky fingered 

race to be leaving the scene  
with the burgled goods 

of last nights, last rites. Just a swag
of textured emptiness dumped behind.

They praise a good entrance.
A good exit is not so easily designed 

so say the little floating bananas
of motes, knifed in a sunlit slit

falling to communion,
a glutenless eucharist      

a patina of departure
in which to trace yourself at last   

this was my body, this my blood
offering up a plate of dust.



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