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poem

July 8, 2009
tags:

redraft of a poem based on the title of the latest exhibition at the Bluecoat.  I will go deeper than the title with my next piece!

The End of the Line

Would you leave before the end of lunch?

Dash up beyond the bay of needing arms,

onto the platform above the bed,

and take the chiffon too – as the horizon

sometimes takes the spray

of sea away. A hankie used to wipe the eye

gone steam of the departing train. Listen to

her gasp, as she smiles thrillingly

saying ‘Bring back the chiffon’, with a

hiss almost a purring – covering up her body

with her arms in a way that reveals more body

more arm. So know her incessantly then.

So give back the chiffon –

refresh your memory

like this at each station: how

wound the charming spires,

banked the winding lanes, lazy and louche

the afternoons of skin. Knowledge

a ledge or a gap in the hedge in a village on the way

from and towards, even better and further.

Go this evening! The end of the line –

where all arrive rude, staggered, jumpers backward,

heaving the breath as if

more breath than for a

weekend of breathing. No journey so sweet

as the one from Edge Hill to the end of the line.

No sweep so direct. A thudding,

swift hush through an Aigburth of pleasure

in a region of pain. A soft bleet hushed – as the

train goes ‘do, do’ into a tunnel.

Edge Hill a blotch behind:

a man on the moon of the flesh.

The morning runs the night’s lines run true.

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2 Comments leave one →
  1. Gul Turner permalink
    July 19, 2009 8:21 pm

    Loved it!

  2. August 2, 2009 10:16 am

    me too

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