Saturday, 8 March 2014

Bus note 91

        Lips stretched livid
and going at it too.
        A spittle ring
        cakes there.
Eyes are 372 now questions
outneedling each other.
        He wants to be in again.
Mad with the Export
and schizo pills (aura
of closed ward)
        he works
        a thin familial recall note.
She listens and answers,
measured and scared.
        Her little girl looks
        and makes remembering flags.
Questions, wet ropes,
dark stabs over
stiffening, shutting down heads.


  1. Her little girl looks
    and makes remembering flags.

    Always good to feel every word has been chosen.

    Her little girl looks compose a mini portrait which sustains into the verb of the succeeding line, a surprising re-adjustment.

    Must be that odd poetry stuff -- some do, some do not.

  2. Thanks, Tom.

    That odd poetry stuff: I suppose it's a blessing there's something to keep us sorts occupied.