Beneath us rock stretches and folds like toffee.
A bracken frond unfurls. A tadpole hides
beneath a lilypad. Within the window
of an aeroplane a film of condensation
glitters. A glacier scrapes across a rock.
In someone’s ear the wobbles of a magnet
turn electricity to funk. A krait
splits its own skin. A girl stroking a cat
sparks static. Kimchee softens and sours.
Salt forms on a drying swimmer’s back.
~~~
meh.
Salmon throw themselves upriver
hurrying to die.
The cones upon the pine trees shiver
at the spirit thrusting by.
~~~~
another short one, I’m afraid.
There was a young golfer from Troon
Who wanted to play on the moon
To his horror he found
When he started his round
That he kept hooking his drives.
~~~~~
I was kind of tired yesterday. So this is late and silly.
The blackbird on the rooftop sings
ancient songs of sex and death.
The woman in the garden thinks
the blackbird on the rooftop sings
a a joyful welcome to the Spring.
But with each lascivious breath
the blackbird on the rooftop sings
ancient songs of sex and death.
Half-deaf in a silent street,
bereft of bass;
as he inhales, his cigarette
lights up his face.
A fox slips through a broken fence
and hurries on.
Two tramps in an empty warehouse
roast a stolen swan.
A man peers past his sleeping wife
to check the time.
Snails cross-hatch a patio
in trails of slime.
Poems are like birds:
dinosaurs with airy bones.
Or like potatoes:
sunlight turned to stodge.