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Biography is either masked ball or epitaph. As you find me, so we are.

Sunday, 14 October 2012

Upon a fear

Upon a fear
He spun me; a fly in spider swaddling,
Coral-curled, breath padding desert cave,
Nails pushed to palm.
Sieve keepsake cabinets for sentiment -
But you're not there.
Entire avenues are leafleted, rocks raised,
Neither in the morning.

Dawn on linen,
Arousing hums of some salad sojourns,
As sun draws steam from last night’s single shower.
The rain has gone.
Droplets refresh yarn master, shiver web.
Repairs are made.
It’s all mapped out in meteorology,
Before the clouds

Where is my fear?
Cars lick streets in whispered waves of tide tables,
Gulls gather over refuse racks of yesterdays,
The sea has gone.
And now.  And now is virtually arrived.
Forecast your dead,
One in one out, ignoring watches
There are no losses.

New clouds evolve,
Palpating photographs, their creators
Enter Museums of Apparatuses.
Forgotten lens;
Tired technician scrawls an explanation,
Abstruse the use,
Another, dusting,  places placards wrongly,
Goes unmentioned.

Where is the rain?
In alien drizzle, howled by galactic gale,
Unwatched by poet’s pen - unforecast -
It steals a sea.
Charity shelves brim full with ex-mementos,
The fear has gone.
Dried arachnids debris-dance along the sill,
My love won’t leave.

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