SICK MORNING
A holocaust of beetle shavings,
buds of flowers rot
a corpse of leaves
like a shrunken spider
i pick a large pom-pom of dust
for Maurice and Harvey are waiting.
Out walking i see obscenities everywhere
in the sweaty day, i see
composites of daydreams changing
into black light holes of death,
stepping-stones to avoid
the searing vomit of grass
summer is evaporating!
with smoking huts.
(14 lines)
Published in Whispers on the Breeze
MERE
The town’s repugnant bottom
sea-green waves of dancing light
floating ceilings of bright swimming pools
but here there are no shallows
blackgreen depths of sucking clay
trapped bones of summer boy swimmers
swirled away by invisible currents
tearing flesh from bone
corpses hide in colourless solitudes
no penetrating light, only
the crust of slime and jade scum floating
amongst the cans of friday nights
a treacherous promise, the only living
the poisonous algae and the prehistoric carp
(14 lines)
Published in A Sense of Place
