your long hand & your long hands

the notion of poetry on command angles in
over the tablelands     you're asking about aeroplanes
but no one's flying without the proper weather
so just watch your step
look out     you're an encounter group
& the sky's the limit though i don't want
to meet you in a dark alley
when we've paid good money for a bed
& breakfast     maybe we could
just eat & skip the sweaty failings
drifting north across our toast & sausage
but there's no escaping that sound in the night
like an endless whisper
so wide-eyed you make no distinction of morning
things just get sharper & stick
in your smile it's too late the wings & shadow
compress you     around the table your genius
is throwing up quietly     could you fake it
could you really go that squirming distance
like an air current or petrol one spark
& you're bang     the notion of poetry
on command falling graceless from goodbye crumpled
your long hand & your long hands
our particle board forever & the fabrications
need a final line not a couplet

(LiNQ 20.2, 1993)

home | journal | poetry | grafx | webjunk | dogportal

ted@magicdog.com -- 1 May 2000