Time and distance has conspired
to make our love brave concertina wire,
while this may be an over statement of our case,
nonetheless, you and I have the wounds to prove it.
icy breath sends neck hairs
frozen bleakness takes the shape of
speckling the wall
twenty feet high solid concrete
concertina wire decorations
‘tis the season –
holiday bliss as reminiscent prisoners
and shift sad eyes when discussing
with beaten and battered cranberries
logistically, the state could not afford
all the trimmings for 3000
so donated feast materials
get the highest of praise –
to over-bearing guards
as the time of year
transcends fear and mere hatred
together they spend another Christmas
inmates and officer
blessed in an un-holy union –
Stairs fly as straight as hawks;
Or else in spirals, curve out of curve, pausing
At a ledge to poise their wings before relaunching.
Stairs sway at the height of their flight
Like a melody in Tristan;
Or swoop to the ground with glad spread of their feathers
Before they close them.
They curiously investigate
The shells of buildings,
A hollow core,
Shell in a shell.
Useless to produce their path to infinity
Or turn it to a moral symbol,
For their flight is ambiguous, upwards or downwards as you please;
Their fountain is frozen,
Their concertina is silent.
In her closet next to a shirt
hangs a concertina pleated skirt
she slips it on with grace and ease
the tiny pleats are there to please
like a million shimmering crystal shards
all tightly pressed like a pack of cards
as she moves they sway and dance
upon her legs they tickle and prance
the feeling makes her smile and shiver
which makes the pleats start to quiver
they skim and flatter her hips and bum
like the majestic rays of a rising sun
such carnal delights found in a skirt
as she hangs it back next to the shirt.
around Folsom prison
& watched the water
tumble over the dam.
I saw the concertina
at the top
of the fences
& wondered if
the armed boys in the tower
would shoot me
if I took off my boots
in the cool
Then I thought to myself,
"Naw, I'd better not,
think I'll swim a mile
or two away,
it's safer that way!"
Some nights, this one, the years
concertina. Bring those Spector
girls nearer, smell that old grease,
votive candle flame. Boom-chick
a-Boom in the room; a spectre,
a tipsy priest and a hospital
bed. We still fear the dead
though we block with the stock
response. Also With You. Your
thigh so white I could almost
taste it. How important the light,
the font of the world. Now
times New Roman have changed,
an orgy of laurel wreath, leaf me
alone I'm reading my comic, sans
anyone. New baptised. I joke in
French. I have no past.
in small steps go up in cadence
go higher in volume raise intensity feel
the growth tap a foot fast then faster soft then
louder tap tap tap beat against the floor keep pace call out
my name I am
the maestro you are a prima donna
this concertina is playing this our heart strings plucked sweetness and sound growing in volume in density I scream hear your bravo!!!
I return, Bellissimo!!!
create a foreground effect
below glistening concertina wire
as the morning sun shines down
the prison in April blooms forth
despite itself –
goslings, tan with black spots
forcing recognition of nature
in a place void of hope
springtime blessing the groundskeepers
and those fortunate enough to have been given yard time
blue skies only corrupted by chemical spray –
laughing inmates break my concentration as a pigeon lands on
a cool breeze creeps in diluting the stale air
education floor buzzes with activity
as forgotten men seek to become more
I sit encouraged by light bulbs –
crackling radio signals the line movement
round two of handshakes and polite jokes
another hour and twenty minutes of magic
I quietly sit back and smile at the scene laid before me
no student has more fire for education
than a man who thought himself less than nothing
I bit in to it.
Gunpowder in a cherry stone.
The flavours fit together like a jigsaw, then drifted apart like countries on an ocean;
Heat from old coals on a young tongue that hadn't tasted the world.
Fluid concertina accordion flavour -too many colours spoil the canvas.
It's a short sentence but I've never said it.
Let something like that drop and it goes on long after it stops.
The ripples spread beyond their little puddle confines
The echoes ricochet through the fullest of minds
The gravity of the sentiment is enough to tug the moon from the sky.
Or cause the vessels of hope I've come to know as my eyes to change.
Martini glasses left out in the rain.