a poet takes a snooze
give me a promenade
with a bandstand and deckchairs
shrieking icecream running in the
warm grass all the way down to the sea
moan wind door widow jammed
in days that in laying in wait
for the grey to decide and speak
where once the boredom lay
on this a winter’s day that may never end
although they always do
well they always have up to now
but this one (mmm says this one)
may run into floods
may wade into tomorrow’s grit
take all the poets’ words
they do not own them
chew them claw and fling them
touch them into the places
where the ligaments give way
and clamped jaws may smile
the hook that extends the child’s being
deep into the dark catching of the fish
that proves that all imagined depths
can be and sometimes are real
give me some stones
mortar of an idea
i’ll build a tower
a sneeze that blows a pollen thought
down along the summer breeze in the
time of a child’s dark secret thoughts
that should ne’er have been thought
but thought they were
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