when I close the final screen
shut you out and me in
the echoes begin
they take on minds of their own
laying mine down to charge and
tread well-worn paths in my trope garden
rambling Dadaist sincerity clambering
youthfully over wrought distinctions
overwhelmed gatekeepers lie back and
think of England
I don’t recall how many thoughts they say
populate the world but a handful
grasp tight to hold the night
with guerilla distractions
it’s an emaciated, dispirited melancholy
that anthologises their work and
retains the interpreters’ crown
//ends
>> month of poetry 2012
No comments:
Post a Comment