laugharne yard unleashed
the door latched on the inside of
a room window-mooned pouring still
across the chaired coat the fag packet
pencilled in a controlled disarray of
crumpled papers
beer bottles lamp light the view
estuarine sliding in and out of thoughts
twisted as trills in snake-mudded drills eel
words listed with the trees down the crumbling
to the boated ventures folded on the grasses
candle lit the replica of a ghost gone now
in our turning to unlock the door
that hid nothing
that preserved nothing
but our pseudo-reading of him
in the price of a smoked pie at midday
midway through such laughing
as in brown’s today
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