Sunday, 10 June 2012

Tales from the School of Art

Falling over hisself with
          his tumbledown longing
        giving out the raggedy signs
                      with a dirty brush

       Glamour, disarming
                  scorning the polished demand
    seeping between the fingers
                   held over the eyes

                     Blossoming: the burst sea wall
                remembered here
                        and here the hundreds of arcing stars
                      duffing up the hung up dark
            and the Norwegian girl
    drunk and
               in tears and
                   not in love
                       and not in love 


  1. This tumbles down the steps of the burst sea wall to the most terrific ending any wave of remembered feeling or poem could ever hope for.

  2. Thanks, TC.
    It's strange to work with a memory at such a distance. There's a certain melancholy pleasure in the work. My time at Art School was a rush of dissolution and much making. It's good to look back.