at best
as you writhe in the
nudity of your birth
your new free world
is a rotten pomegranate
better had it been
squeezed dry, but still it drips
as the goth Edith
Sitwell
noted forty years earlier
quietly fulgent at
night like a sugar cube crushed in the dark
the fuzzy picnic of
the market with its lissome tubas and formula grown-ups
at first soporific,
soon to be ardent
is your artist
trying to draw with creosoted pastels
a war on all as time
goes on
others were born in
the eighties
that decade to be
expunged from human history
but your eighties
is reaction thick as
the dead underfoot
I am no camera
to poke into such quicklime depths
who am I, no one
listens to me, as soon none will listen to you
but now, in a glow
of sugar, far away like a coal seam, I scent it
spontaneously
burning …
Fantastic, I really like your social commentary, loaded with that je ne sais quoi! Somehow oblique but powerful.
ReplyDeletethanks Anna, this came this morning, have had a few not soinpsired days
ReplyDelete*so inspired!
ReplyDeleteGreat stuff, Robbie!
ReplyDeleteQuietly fulgent at night like a coal seam ----- I had to be seated had to rush back to re read.
ReplyDeletehad to laugh, poor millennials! even on your so called uninspired days there's an image or two, usually more, to blow one's socks off, Robert!
ReplyDeleteI am reeling with all this praise, thank you all! :)
ReplyDelete