Tuesday, 12 January 2010

beat #1

yes i gleamed and a grimace whined
I or me (narrator?)
only in the parchment-sky, and a skipping rope casting each ray
to blind,
so prick up your ears, little boy,
listen hard:

vertigo is a gush of beach stones,
a lyric recalled from years ago

whiskerless smiling boy-faces
us there,
now them,
sony walkman
scabby knees
a perforated minute for a mother's affection
in a holiday car on a ferry
stationary as the bereaved on each precipice

umteenth i pod
inching belly,
furious as a clown when it's all just an act
when the words don't add up to meaning
but look like shredded photographs in half-arsed verse

eden yawped, a deliverance like thirst,
before science swallowed her whole

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