Usually I'd meet up
with a seasonal whisper and
then I'd want the restless coat
for going out together, snapping
our way to the slow-bake
coast. I'd shake out my hair
and all the handles would turn
unlocking the phase of lapse.
I want to heave up some big
reasons to moan,
my Johnny-lamb, forget.
Dream up some stuff (I tell myself)
like drams of snow from
an old morning, like worries
kept close in a matchbox
glued with glitter-
sing its little engine if
you want to see.
So what do you say, as the coast
slinks around. Worry me
some more like you do, wringing me
until my ribs shake.
I trust too much
night's counterpoise.
These lanterns have soft skin
and the walk should do me good
near the green glow, warbling shards
where rain comes cheap and
my whisper's in a snare. |
