In tightest dress they enter,
Greedy eyes on folded tables
squeeze three sides from every square
(the finest boxclips in their hair).For each fork, two tines
four times each, eight fines reach
those branches low with cashiers;
hiss flat cheers for porridge.“Half an ounce? I’m famished, Trish!”
“Let’s have the check for damages,
and write it off to Revenue.”
(A Pound for Pen and Pence for Pounce)A Festival for Spendthrifts
Deflating night,
lurking in washcloths,
cat’s whiskers –
portents of lonely forays
slow mornings,
tightening connections
creeping through bedspreads
hanged on duvets.The reaches of bathtubs,
with snips of old ribbons
(glance there for water
and hypnotic reflections)
A puncture forgiven, now
struggle past slats
to hear their bright voices
through blue-tinted glass.
If you were really the most humble person on the planet, I doubt you’d be telling us about it…
Suit pockets loom,
Sportcoat seams greedy,
wide-gaping zippers
like incisors filed down
to daggers.Their inset tongues slaver-
drip ichor from folds
of silk-linen.
Raving for that cowhide-
lined parcel.
jackdaws franticly sliding boxes
til the flash, then gaping fascination,
heads turning, tail feathers spread wide
swoop and hug the sideChitters and curses
all heads turning
in the serpent, shining boxes
blinking lights in response
to the glittering jewels
just over the hill.The sight draws me in
as I sit at it’s tail,
trapped in the snake’s spine
(kundalini inverted),
trying hard not to look
but flashing just the same.
At my ankles
bloated beasts
drift on tides,
dreaming. I stalk
the waking
luminence lurking
near them,
among the reeds,
amidst the mud
of this fresh
water reef.An absolutely brilliant poem, concise, clear, powerfully compact. The alliteration on lines two and six are particularly hard-hitting,…
Feste's Lute 