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.

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