One more, short I happily promise, if I wanted to deluge the list with my
back-log of poems it might result in mass-suicides, the interest in this I
think is that it is both simultaneously personal and not-personal, it was
triggered by a broken love-affar but doesn't describe it literally, which
might make me sound inhuman, it gave me an idea for a poem. I'd be
interested in any comments on its formal structure, particularly from
Rambletone, that Scots pedant. If he's up to it that is!
NO TITLE INDEED
When the four-week moon of your madness
Curved on the blank pane of your head
Obscurities thronged with obscurities
In a dance from the living to the dead.
You crumbled like cottony, white bread.
I had to go. Nothing more to be said.
A Chide's Alphabet
Painting Without Numbers