Friday, 3 January 2014

We Heard Rain Rattle on the Glass

We heard rain rattle on the glass
As pebbles poured onto the path
Pierced the air with iridescent noises
The volume of the shattered voices
Assembling some passive patter
Resuming through the evenings chatter.
Don’t be blue baby, don’t be blue
Peel the familial syllables of – I love you
And feels for  a drink or the fluted bone
Of the fingers slipping a disc on the gramophone.
And the day still lingers in its petulant ooze
Thrilling between the night and his festering bruise
Of the lack of light and the lewd suggestions
Accompanied by a tongue to bite and a crude suggestion.
For whose insight into our empty conversation
Could have soothed the long perpetual perambulations?
Rendering useless, like the extravagant drill
One applies to bending light or taking pills.
What we have not done infects the memory
Once fine now faded in its wrecked assembly
And checks the hand which writes with the numb of pain
Thudding over these eyes with the flecks of rain.