Wednesday, 20 August 2014

Anger Management, a Wistful Gesture and Sketchy Regret

Scantling Saywas

Even though the walls
Collapsed like lungs
Even though to speak
Burnt like a grate
Even though your body
Melted into space
Even though the blank
Was flamed through with holes

The morning still maintained
A message from before
The paths still proclaimed
Footfall echo maps
And afternoons still basked
A scent of light turning

Over on an open river

Thursday, 5 June 2014

Five finger exercises (a la TSE)

                 Two Primitive Nocturnes

All night the rain has argued with the wind.
A balloon turns at its mooring, as if adrift
in the hushed pillowed weather of my head.
Our foxes hide as the dawn’s throats wake.


Each night all a cabinet’s drawers hurtle
open, its filing flung as if wind-blown.
A twisted aerial crooks to a sinking signal.
I dig out my heads from a light dung loam.