Displacement
Displacement.
Slow motion memories;
A conscience pricked, in pictures; develop,
And are delivered to the senses, on
The white wings of the winter wind.
It blows lazy! And sharp; skin parts bare,
Bristle in shivers, woven close and damp.
This wind, sweeps withered leaves, drifting deep.
Collecting amongst names, stoned, and forgotten,
They lean on the edge of forever.
But! There is hidden memory,
Locked into the leafy dew rot; oaks are,
Acorning amongst frozen Angels.
Abandoned by pew-less warehouse chapels,
Bramble tied tight, marbling alone, and time-stained,
Various Devils seek to hide in, corner-less walls,
Rooks rise startled, duelling sharpened beaks;
Alone in the slanted mist, the weathercock rusts; and drips,
Each dawn, is nearly north, and south is, very - still.
Stumbling steep, the smell of slipping stones;
Sulphuring piquant; underneath, boot clad feet.
Further has become further than far away, for ghosts,
Pushing through slipping time, journeying on,
Sweet water foams white, cools lips, and falls away.
Sparkling distant in the light of blind lanterns.
The call of home rides on the darkened wings of eve-fall,
And we-fall, further into the feather filled dream pillow.
Safely parcelled in a cloak of starry skies, with heavy eyes;
The hymns of Owls lullaby limp limbs, bound for sleep.
Childhood silhouettes washed faint fly beyond hills of hours,
Swimming against the tide of youth, pyjammed in night sweat.
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