Dissatisfactions with Verse
'White as a hospital, the lie began ....'
I
+This is an age of prose.+
II
The mountains have all been climbed.
Speechworst evicted gods grudge and slurry
Off into a flit loft of lost
Snow flurry. From slow masked
Breathmarks: plastic, oxygen.
III
+And rubble.+
IV
On the bed opposite, his head
Almost loll-loll lolling
Drop like a peach, pillowed
On nothing but memory
Like that portrait canvas what was it
Twitch old Goya plus doctor plus.
Who's emptied eyes swimming
Pools looking out
Drained beyond metaphor?
V
+This is an age of noise.+
VI
The pure noise, oh the colourless
Delight, arrhythmia
Shambling without shape. I believe
In chance, it is fate;
The wave's number's up. Look:
I am a voice, collapsing. Rilke's
Narrow angels' glob and puddle.
VII
+And scrabble.+
VIII
Without shape blur, form blah, purpose us,
Point dit, off dot, off off, dat, ooze sqwoos.
David Bircumshaw
Leicester, England
Home Page
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