Friday, 20 August 2010


Valves make weak links
When hairline fractures map their surfaces;
Scratched into them by a bull beaten pump
Whose sump is overflowing
With runoff
And dottle
Not coughed up.

And when I leave my lover
With her blood still swilling in my mouth
There’s no doubt why my heart starts acting
Like a fairground attraction
That’s had its
Shafts cracked
Once too often.

And there’s really no way
To soften the news or alleviate the bruising
On my ticker’s skin once its mettle
Has been wetted within
And pulsed
In Morse code the
Letters of her name;

No wonder the thunder that
Heightens my drum beat is lightening fast;
Cast in the forges of passion
To smash against
A rib cage that
Sags and crashes back
To make its lasting mark.

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