Sunday, February 23, 2014
poem || Lawrence Upton
Wings make jumpy unintended mechanical noise.
as a train passes,
pulling on plugs of the natural
Members of the library stock take off,
take off each other. And, Hades and gentile heaven,
it's time to shop.
trying to lead;
leads interfering with other leads.
And, around the widening city,
there are The Moors
Rattle of crumbs upon a plate.
Doors shut into the distances,
amplification confronting surveillance.
On the deck of the liner,
alibis are arranged.
On the banks of the Lynher,
the inhabitants discuss Plymouth
as if it were sophisticated.
Two men deslate their own roof
into the yard below,
with waving arms
Do not say it is unwelcome --
the treadmill, or the roulette wheel –
it is spinning
A hammering next door and music here.
A bending of what is perceived
and made compliant
a new mechanism
knocking both sides of a hollow wall
a space of clocks,
[River Lynher, sometimes called the Saint German's River, is a tributary of River Tamar. “Lynher” is an anglicisation of the Cornish name.]