Friday, August 29, 2014

In the centre of things

In this place we conceptualise things
Blood of several thousand warriors
Between days and dust of seasons
Pulsated from elbows into wood
Ebony and arches, relentless bullseye
A clock in the centre of things, awkward things
Two horses carrying newly weds
Filtered air and second floor stacks
Bats looking down on us, no change in scenery
Glitter brained swarm of would like to be
I place my diamonds in the middle of the table
Spasmodic interception, they don’t say binoculars
They say glasses here – he wasn’t looking
For diamonds, he was looking for pearls
In a horse’s nostrils - no promises lost
No promises found