a coppiced thought
pruning my words
down to the coppice
of a tree’s branching
into thoughts of spring
the old secateur’s creaking
there’s another one
and here’s another one
wattle be enough
to thatch this thought
that the seeds need trees
to branch and grow and flower
as sunhouses need roofs
where such thoughts as these can doze
and doze and doze
valentine’s day
(a welshman unsigned)
look i’m tellin ewe un eye
she dun know eye exists
so like i’m not
i’m not sending her none
his … majesty
just shopped for it online
they only do secondhand
hand-me-down thingys
bit stained and threadbare
Dot
in her dotage
in the dementia ward
had forgotten a lot
about Dot and
it is awful sad
Dot
in her dotage
in the dementia ward
is looking for
Dot and
it is awful sad
when
when approaching the Chesapeake
the scene is cut by a snake
hurrying
with you explaining how
frogs voices can be recreated
in pigeon english
shit
the scene contracts
DC is a form of current
tingling across the unseen
unable
we retrace our steps
the epstein men’s mien
time catches up with them
these sad old men
found guilty ~ guilty! guilty!
their perceived impunity
stopped at the door
of balanced thought
the password ‘sorry’
not recognised
away to the stocks with them
pelt them with the pus
from their lanced boils
let the night of retribution
come down upon them
slowly close their door
the brain worm
the invisible robot
corrupting thought
so that they forgot
the restraint do not
so they did
with a vengeance
that seemed a timeless
inheritance
it was not news to them
but history made large
obvious
a no brainer
was the last thought they had
too late the epitaph
their fingers wrote in the dust
