Wednesday, 16 April 2014

15. Was this not yet enough?

Listen. We already repurposed
the broken benches of our lives
for new shelves,
for matchstick people
glued together with
the unlicked envelope flaps
of bills we hadn’t got to
yet. We already did good.

When everything was calcified
hip bones, when quicksands
gnawed our blue parasols &
nothing could block
out the sky: we did fine.

Better. We became outlaws
sketching new candescent
lungs. We spun
words from taffy.

Really? Do we still need
to face the letterbox
(it could be rank
with dragon claws
& the lurk of collectors)?

Werewolf demands for all
the scrolls we took as tapers.

I think we’ve done enough—
we can opt out of believing
in four white corners
in missives.

Listen. We already trekked
jungles and now, you, now
you expect me to pick up the mail.

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