Wednesday, 1 June 2011

A poem of regression


If you listen for a moment,
I can tell you all I need,
Winter’s almost over,
Love begins to bleed,
Piece by piece I am pretending,
Up ahead I am no more,
No lantern could find me,
Nor pilot nor oar,
This dismay - supposing
- That dismay it is,
Ballets in the scrap-yard,
Allays the kiss,
I father in my faith,
I falter in my oaths,
I need a shot of decent
Rot, the taste of home,

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