Sunday, 10 August 2014

2 New Poems

Colour Corrections 

The facade of remembrance,
a descent of wool-eyed shroud,
blocking out pieces, stations one
could say, to the current of
river stone smoothness, perfections
of straight razor and stained glass.

We are always red, flush with youthful
bloom, in hindsight haze, while in
the moment we wasted hourglass grain
as idle shore with pacing about,
with shoe tracks beating out
hesitant pitter-taps, most unlike

the wild symphonies we recall.

Waking Up Too Late

You pour something special,
concord-Kosher sickly sweet:
the softer kind of IV injection,
the easier thing than talking
stark under-dressed and over-worried.

You balance the task-tools as
spinning plate syndrome, watch
burning shadows on plaster walls
in their bleach-scrubbed indifference,
wondering about how lipstick stains might look.

You recover to the half-tick and
rustle of overtaxed wind-chimes, of
underused bedsheets, curtain
colliding with cast of pale light
crusted eyelash on quarter-past

Sunday noon.

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