2315
7.122
3.v.26
four little
poems for Chris Mansell
following
her workshop session
to be
where I particularly am
no
camera
blank
terror
a walk
into words
carry
thing around
it’s
lonely
there’s
this me
no
other
pivot
of else
and
now again
I’ll
find myself
where
I in
particular
am
historic
the apple
of eye to see
it’s the colour of something
(I won’t say)
one among the flock
and bitter sour or what-you-will
of the type, delicious
tree’s green too, leaf
that’s the true thing, note
I mumble it out, hoping
and look, no hands
here’s Coleridge, some of his grazing mates
they’ve just come to take a bite
that which and of he so she
by my but till or if when
what from some else still then?
with yes not it
like that
like that
and round about
just so
!
insofar and no further than
my father always quipped
and what he meant was
words aren’t long enough in this country
though I don’t think
he ever said this as such
