Marshland Road

Eventually,
Those marshy roads
You pleasantly drove
On Sunday morning
Overloads,
Beyond skeletons made
From fenny pheasants
Ancient and less clawed
By toothless crows
O wide-eyed
Skies below,
Circus tents
And badger’s nose,
Swingbridge blues,
A bull to doze,
Will be essentially
As archaic and unexplained
As brittle canopic jars
Buried under
Tessaraed mosaics
And unidentifiable
Canine remains
In the tomb of
Amenhotep,
Second Pharoah,
A God aflame afloat.

Dig A Hole

My barren mind will oftentimes
Grasp for levelled words,
Its fallow field’s infertile,
Dreams dissolved to dirt.

I’d try to shake myself awake
Like thorns within a curse;
Letters in life’s word-game rattle,
A rib-cage emptied verbs.

Unpaid workers dug a hole,
They formed a pile of earth;
They bound me to a bloodied pole
Not far from my place of birth.

I did not even question how
These trap doors are not doors;
A lever, flattened oak-wood opened,
As out my soul then poured.