Simply taken aback, stunnedly, by the imagery in the opening lines of this,
Alison.
Phew and Wow!
Best
Dave
----- Original Message -----
From: "Alison Croggon" <[log in to unmask]>
To: <[log in to unmask]>
Sent: Sunday, September 09, 2001 10:41 AM
Subject: Another poem
> sometimes pain seems to be the truest thing there is
> it sits behind your eyes like a shivering animal
> whose vision is a foil wretched with reflections
> even skins are razors luminous with unshed blood
> and you understand anew the fragility of all touch
> how real and clumsy it is a derailed train in which
> corpses curl beneath the shuddering metal and collide
> discourteously and the worm wakes in the brainpan
> sniffing the stench of tears - it is an excess of course
> and thus shrugged and deadened - there is no time
> for its midnight pollen drifting through your veins
> rooting and flowering into hallucinatory lymphonae
> for shuttered lids and tongues tasting of iron for the
> impotence of a half formed gesture which gutters out
> and leaves a trail of rust inside the stilled hand
> for the clarities which ripple in its silence
>
>
> Alison Croggon
>
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