Friday, 24 February 2012


Feverish, I jived and heaved through the night,
Blood on the nub and raw backbone, sleek sweat
And flesh flowering, pins and needles, neat
And nipping minnows, burrowing bird flight,
Jumbled Gulliver, Lilliputian fight
On the battlefield bed and me the meat,
Boxed beneath the ocean and the sinking streets,
Head housing hives of bees, crabs, crooked light.

Lull, largo. Morning gathers in the gaps.
Calm collapsing the cushions, policing pace,
Ringing out the real, the solid-soil sounds
And soothing muffled song of tuned-down taps.
Roundel of relief, and the furrowed face
Of my dad as he wiped my brow and wounds.

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