THO DEATH HAS NO DOMINION IT STILL STICKS ITS BLOODY OAR IN

 

death is a bad fact
& blunt
like a sperm whale

&
fate is a river of silt
with tent city banks

& echoes have teeth
& the past is litigious

but no matter that

that world is gone

ABOUT A TSHIRT

'daddys
 got his
 big boy
 knickers on'

rages the twisted dude in the awful film

but thats no matter

anyway as

i am absorbed
by this tshirt 

i dug out

from long ago & musty stasis

its on my lap now

& i finger its guts

it is hard-packed 

with drinking ghosts 

& smells of the silt

of an old depression

THE QUIET TENNIS BALL & THE DERELICT SWINGS

see how quietly
the tennis ball sits

in the fringe
of the lawn
this morning

~

a tier of sadness

arrives 

on the car park air

as you swing wide the door

& another 

washes over you

from the derelict swings

like layers of silt

home now & settling in