16-1-18

again morning
I open the window
and sunlight is falling
onto me
could I in heaven find them
still further
who have given loneliness

 

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there’s no telling

there’s no telling
if she’ll let her panties
talk to my undies
hers are white
mine are black
she says’ is that racialist?’
I say ‘no
it’s only cloth
over our
private parts?’
she says’ that’s good
I don’t want to be
a racialist’
I say ‘yr not
the Americans
should play Donald
some Springsteen’
she says
’yr always
thinking’

 

 

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waits for the carton to get cold

waits for the carton to get cold
taps my fingers
on my knee
thinks I might play
Rod Stewart
I like where he takes
me the girls
are pretty there

 

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gets up

gets up
you feel the singleness
like a landscape
where has been made
a Temple
you worship at
and the bells of the steeple
ring out
like ‘Unchained Melody’
perhaps ‘Darling

Be Home Soon’

 

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I said (II)

I said
‘my heart’s a sky’

she inquired
‘are the birds
lonely in it?’

 

 

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12-1-18

I cannot find the seashell
she had left for me

how am I to hear
what she has heard

or feel how she
had marvelled?

 

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11-1-18

discardment
he’s always looking at the sky

‘don’t look at him’ they say
‘you’ll get the crazies’

‘when leaf drop falls’
he wants to tell ’em

‘the tree will make itself
a temple’

 

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