The wake

Written by: john anusie

I have a still snivelling mirror
From the silk-cotton tree
But can that take the stabbing cowries 
From my heavy,swollen foot?

I am in the dark the naked she-goat
Panting over flying stones.
I must eat washings of my half-thread 
Sudden cut by Atropos;
I must return to almost forsaken ploughs
A balding soot by my wake
Amidst flying tongues of dagger and malice;
Poor manacle must watch armour-less 
As malignant rats dart in mottled errands,
Breaking the last walls-the fields,and then
I must  rove  naked in the inky sky
And then sit under the cypress,
Chewing my fingers-ever.

How sudden the icy embrace
O that I had caught with you the ambulance crest.