Rangily I sigh,
Hot in languor, lean hip on steel
Wet jet black rock yawning - time is time is tar
and yet arriving – thick.
Bus chairs become fat insects
free from seat, covered in kaleidoscopic fur,
bee massive,
blue,
they billow raw in to the air they long for the rich flesh of the flower of the small-of-the-back they long the most for that.
breathe in
here, breathe in plastic, in card
in dog-ends and in skeletons of sweet leaves
in brown paper bags and anonymous white shrapnel that spin with the wind and roll
through the wet feet of the roadside trees,
In, in
bright in the groin of the asphalt, spray
Rain raises lips up, while
bus chairs count hours by the spine,
in the lucky or unlucky flux of magpies, perspex, pine
I wait. Nothing stays
but the trace
of pelvis and passion and marrow and matter and waste
*
Author notes
A rainbow 5 is a bus in nottingham, but it is also a word for a band of different colours coupled with a number.
SO i'm sending this off for workshopping, expect/suggest changes - i'm talking serious line changes, anything. GO FOR IT.
Please redefine gender in terms of tree, vermillion and plynth.
Comments
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*sigh*
Incredible. I have no place to be making suggestions, but if it was to me, I'd leave it just like it is. I love it.
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cheers buddy! it's off to be slaughtered by a bunch of hyperintelligent poets so i guess even if they hate it i've got some excuse somewhere to ignore them. :S
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