how will these exposures turn out
given our sumptuous penury, we are rich
in despite, in raised voices
and luxuriant imagistic scars.
i have been walking and peeling off
layers and sticking others on, but
what sort of glue is words. clag,
that smacked and wiped me till
i acquiesced in a person, who
whiled their time squatting
on a desk, siphoning emptiness
into their womb to take the edge off.
wind penetrates used nylon
to be closer to us, finds haven in banners,
scuttles a copse. what do they say
apart from colour and debilitation
and get on with it, go on
with your work, abide the ferment.
and if to your hands come bruised
friends to be held up by their
wizened wrists, their necks slack
and green, you wipe them down and
chide them in a put-on voice
to remind them what they are,
a faintest threat of persistence
squirming on the head of a pin,
still about to be eaten,
, and the process continues.
its been swell playing these cards
warmed by your fingers.