Dismay is waiting behind the door,where across the floor, footprints like hieroglyphschronicle the history of past defeats.Dead clothes, the skin of our former selves,still tumble from broken cases, cratessplit their sides with the books, a three-legged chair,bewildered, leans in the corner where a viper’s nestof jerseys entwines a broken lamp –all the high spume and […]
/ That is a strange day
/ when you wake to discover
/ age has drifted down
/ imperceptibly, like dust,
/ and you’re totally covered.
It’s like painting / the Forth Bridge / without the fresh air / and fear / of drowning.
The night I got grave dust on my hands after dusting off my mother’s grave / I was lent a…