Sunday, 22 May 2016

1 New Poem

Second Act Slumps
Stay there, still in dying battery static,
with drowning echoes of Shard-spun dusk
time, the elongated brick window shading
of mobile factory signage and the next
seven stops on ways from keeping even-keeled
to madly stamping in grate casing bar floor
for notice amid dinning guitar plank-plucks, as you
only want to shout how much you are in
love with love with political posters and forgotten
romance lyrics from transistor tower bridges.

New grounds to be broken, the discovery
of hanging white cream bed sheets on pudgy
underskin of plastic-faced self-reflective
sentiments, the kind you bring as flash grenades
to pocket switch-knife knuckle brawls,
that rehearsed little pitter-patter of tim-tam
shimmy the schoolboys became so unpredictable
with that valedictory premonition had to tear
bracing maps to pieces and fall back on song-spun
courages, the kind you let in some evenings

to cool the room from all this wooden pacing.

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