Chilled Sunday…
young man hides
in an old man’s beard
☯️
Filthy window…
the soap
washes itself
☯️
That sun,
past the high-rise…
through windows
☯️
Spring turns…
one black banana left
in the bin
☯️
Laughter,
abstracted…
no pulse
☯️
I watch
her sleep; think
nothing else
☯️
Spring turns…
clarinets announce
the clowns
☯️
Drape a moth
in cobweb…
how it shreds its wings!
☯️
Spring turns…
Christmas lights round an elm,
shadowed
☯️
Father, dying…
but I hear
birds sing
☯️
Such swans!
I shall not brood
on where they shit
☯️
Ratcatcher,
rat corpse…
satisifed?
☯️
Spring turns?
Storm rain…
sunburned cheeks
☯️
Wagon rear window,
“Free”…then what scraped
by the wiper?
☯️
