A big welcome to D.J. Jones (David Annwn). Here's a poem from his book
_the spirit / that kiss" which is happily still available from North and
South.
Randolph Healy
********************************
ARGUMENT David Annwn
I hear your heel scrape,
and torch go down like a flare.
Silver scribbles veer across the tarmac,
a thousand horns draw in against the light
as cars moan by,
and we are in the black again.
But I feel them,
soundless shells,
soft nubs of flesh toeing forward
for a hundred yards around.
We have stumbled blind into
a dusk migration
from the damp wood's mouth
and we cannot move.
I bend and see voluted horn,
snails in droves, webbed and chipped,
pouring on the road and walls,
violet adults and the young
like a shimmy of snot
with tiny organs gleaming through.
This stopped your argument,
your heated voice
going and coming on the mist;
this stopped the bringing out
and parading of a battered love.
This even frailer flesh
stopped us soon enough,
and the heart's contention
in mid-step;
here, where I cannot
come back to you
except by little deaths.
%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%
|