Thursday, 19 September 2013


The ceremonial removal of bone
I picture it
As an epitome of images
-          A hot sound combing through fragments,
An arm, fingers.
For I have seen them reaching
Consuming the inches for some greater home
Tendrils and sinews, chastising and melting.
Still the gulls scream
Down on the coast.

I have spent many a winter here
Lulling hot words around this dull mouth
Waiting to cry –
That the world is cruel, yet in this distant town
The sky is clear

And bodies move like clouds.