Deep South v.1 n.2 (May, 1995)
Fortrose
polite cough of a town
opened your arms to tall ships
but a long spit of sand
covered your mouth
rich silt settled inside
leaving you full
and empty
like Wilde art
or a flower on the trellis
of a house boarded up
for sale
*
Lying full stretch
by the cliff's edge
arms spread wide
fingers clutching tussock grass
unable to stand up and look down
but
drawn to the edge
inching out
down there gullspecks
head
bouncing in the wind
"You sit stiller"
thought Pound
in the cage at Pisa
"if whenever you move something jangles"
*
It wasn't the
crunch
crossing the line
or even winning
that drew me
but the game---
something langer than its parts
like a whole body
or wild art
free
falling
in love
with an image
motion unrestateable
losing its heart
when you try to explain
*
I thought of animals, machines, lovers
but to give either one of us
an image
would be cheating
when we smashed together
we weren't anything
but ourselves
my neck twisted
down to the ground
curled like a wave
just before it hits sand
and breaks.
Mouth opened
ononono
no sound
only fear
and years
echoing
*
Lying full stretch
on a trolley
head in the sandbags
arms laid straight
fingers
somewhere
touching legs
every thirty seconds
to make sure you still
can
smelling clothes
they're about to cut off
your body
your mind
longing to stand up
look down
make connections
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