#10 – ‘This Poem is Not a Pipe’

‘This Poem is Not a Pipe’

There is a gap in the world where things fall through;
bicycle clips, and leeks, and off-cuts of astrakhan,
frogspawn, gravestones, and the lids from mustard jars.

There is a place in the world where smells wait;
asparagus-scented urine, coal-tar soap, and mould-spotted copies of Proust.

Salmon leap. Flames flame. Small girls feel the mud between their toes.