Thursday, 3 April 2014

2. Harlequins

Who knew that
last night we were wild storks,
butterflies out of tune?

I peeled my distressed
rapsichord from under my tongue.

I handed you
diminished sevenths,
wasp spit and bone.

Last night we were
wailing walls &
slippery coconut innards.

I scattered secrets,
raucous bats and lungs.

Then this morning
trod in on lumpen
ankles—who knew

it would not last
forever? This feeling

of harlequins.
Power outages. Gold.

No comments:

Post a Comment