Sunday 7 September 2014

1 New Poem

Mealtimes

The sidewalk shadow bends, decades-old
in iron-wrought, Hammersmith mill
fell long silent of bleating breath,

long running rumour of skeletal
frame emerging supper plate
rubble, never clearly enough

until in the storefront window
as a newborn bird, flying
through placement pane, unrecognized.

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