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EVERYTHING IN ITS PLACE

Written by: Barry Tebb | Biography
 Desks are straining on all fours, flanks

Heaving to hurl the hunched riders

Down crack and cranny, buck

Finger-snapping lids, consume

Scrap and scribble between tongue and teeth.
The blackboard is cleaning itself behind me, Making my neck prick as it scatters dust Like seed, empties its clogged pores of clich?, Anoints its carved channels and cavities With infinite black ooze and sap.
And I don’t trust that corner cupboard! Opening its dark doors like the jaws of Cerberus, shelving its stacks to heave At my head, ready to snap its quick lock Round my wrist like a crab.
I watch the windows wink and blink, Tug at their catches, tempt my fingers With their openings, crack flying cords To noose my neck; they eye the bulging roof Beams, bent like a bow above me.
This whole room has rushed to the world’s edge, My fingers tip its tottering walls Braced to hold definition, floorboards Knotted tight against infinity’s axe, doors Bolted to contain time and place in time and place together.
I cry ‘help’ as my world whirls, Is loosed at the single eye of heaven.



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