Wednesday 4 March 2020

home came the poem

home came the poem

the poem came home
to the forest   be it
pulp fiction or even the bible
returned to mulch the same place
as the forebears of the words
in detritus dying to be free
of the canopy the panoply
of late poets     the last train
of thought has prised open the 
book of words   and the fungi have
their sporangia nodding in slow motion
to the thoughts that decay on the
forest floor kicked by the hooves
of the four horsemen 
that reverse the tears
that replay time and the snuffling of youth
returning all back to the single mind
that took refuge on the penultimate page
and paused over the epilogue of time’s
time to be ablated in the gib gnab 

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