Saturday, 10 December 2011

Back to the drunk, and the dance


















291
The man who drank to forget
Wakes up. He shakes as he moves from
Bed to bathroom, his world is shattered
This is the ice-cold start to living alone

292
He has reached out his hand
To the other side of the bed, pressed
His palm on flat blankets, across the
Slight hollow in the mattress

293
In loss, an imprint exists, it is
No less transient than the life
Of the memory that holds it
Nor any less unique or precious

294
The whole solar system has a shelf life
Making perspective simple from intellectual
Angles. Life is more than cerebral for people
Stars have life cycles not funeral rites

295
Ketchup has been left with the lid off
Sticky and vulnerable like a tracheotomy
It’s mostly sachets in cafes these days
Split open heart-pods lying on side plates

296
She wakes naked with achy feet, parched
Skin, echoing head, seeks comfort in
Pulsation of water, the congruous
Drum of indoor plumbing

297
Oh the beautiful drops tap their cadence
On weary skin, thumpy bones, tight
Connective tissue, everything
Eases in lemony froth

298
Encased in the chrysalis of
Shower stream, head-thumping
Pupae gets a feeling for flight
And a fancy for a bacon sandwich

299
Wet flesh, refreshed, falls back
To bed, starfishes limbs under the
Duvet, dreams of wings and heaven
And the kinetic fusion of dancing

300
When she wakes again, it
Will be lunchtime and her hair
Will, caught in the mirror
Cause such laughing

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