Saturday, 27 October 2012

Where Is The Shelf For Disjointed Ballerinas?

I am happiest at turnstile,
the metallic divider

in or out
before or after

time slices life,
brutal diviner

there is a place for every torn ligament,
each bruise, bunion and blister

All God's freaks and whisperers

the worshipped and discarded

find solace
in knowledge

commuters and travellers
wear itchy woolens on the eve of winter

Can you smell my cedar mothballs
and my plastic brink enlarger?

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