Canto LVI

It seems the rain only dares to come at night
when pinhead bongos rattle window glass
to summon us from dreams as if to state

that this is the new tempo we must place
our archetypal images upon,
or stirring battle drums so we can face

the fears that jingle jangle deep within
like pocket change inside an old settee.
When daylight issues through our threadbare curtains,

forgetting dreams, we still hold memories
of glugging gutters, roots drinking a good fill,
outside we see the sodden wads of leaves,

the blameless sun above bourgeois Herne Hill.


1 Comment (+add yours?)

  1. peter litton
    Aug 22, 2012 @ 08:02:36

    A simple critique…this was fun to read.


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