Canto CCCLXIV

Occasionally, my sleeping baby girl
wakes alone within the darkened room,
lets out the saddest little drawn out wail

then falls asleep again. The summer moon
glints icily through our uneven blinds,
a helicopter judders through the gloom,

a dog across the road barks and then grinds
his canines against his new favourite stick.
There’s never a moment when you cannot find

something that’s crying out, but if you pick
a random living room, you’ll find instead
a roaring soul within a nest of brick,

a trembling lip, a hairline bead of sweat,
a knot within the stomach, a slight tick,
a mental rerun of a great regret

that will not be alchemised into talk,
nor find throat in primal, mammalian cries,
the expression rises within, then balks,

returns to its cramped cell behind the eyes.

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2 Comments (+add yours?)

  1. Steve
    Aug 28, 2012 @ 20:52:32

    Intensely beautiful. Thanks Mr O’S.

    Reply

  2. peter litton
    Aug 29, 2012 @ 23:41:37

    This one is so tense it is like a coiled spring waiting to unwind.
    It’s full moon…time to go into the garden and howl out all that anguish.

    Reply

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