"needlepoints" poems
while the holocene climaxes
through empty, breezing streets (seeing
your leaves and flowers wither and curl on the two-edged
backlane, loose gravel and overhanging apartments looming
like sharp needlepoints of darker grey)
drops, just streams, coalesce on dark green leaves,
dirt scatters on the phosphorescent, forgotten film—imperceptibly,
rain blurs your lonely photographs (i hold
them in boxes and under books, and
gaze at scrawls where your hand once touched, and
ponder at surfaces where your mind once wandered, and
shadow them on my heart, and
shatter them on my memories).
Jan 17, 2018
Jan 17, 2018 at 12:17 AM UTC
Fixed upon a
stare
and I dare untie the look.
needlepoints and button hooks
and afternoon spent with Aunt Maud.
She covered up piano legs
and
wrote letters to the press
but,
as mad a box of monkeys
nevertheless.
Down the coach and horses in the 'snug'
with a bottle of stout
easy to get her in there
next to impossible getting her out
and then dear Lord you took Aunt Maud
a mistake you'll come to rue and
when she bends your ear for half a year
you'll not know what to do.
Dec 6, 2016
Dec 6, 2016 at 1:50 PM UTC