Back hurt when lifted, take two
once a day, look out again for this
face displaying some old aspect

or else making scribbles with string

and earth.  Splints hold the light
in strats from the eyes, never
so near as here to bay low:

 

my baby left me
by the station
by the door.

 

It sanctioned and woke up
this morning mourning a dream.
Cords emanated from the hands
to the wall.  First to lie,
to say hi, bought from the rear
to adopt between pillars
a great voice, yet close to near,

 

I took upon me
such a thing
as to sing.

 

Making bored beetles about
sex textbooks never looked up.
Pens and make up is much
to learn so idly.  Sarah,
was I ever at school with you?
Those planes about the lights
were my conceit, so here:

 

walk with me
and talk upon
the old steps.

 

Sawdust covered the desert
at play - puppets tore up
the stairs past stuffed giants
in their case, then castles
at knee height in the room
ground class 2B in reality.
I've never been more concerned

 

with what you
might now be
called by

 

the moors under the wind, girl,
swords twinging from the nearby gym.
I wasn't there, from laying you
in the beginning, to making today
breakfast with my feet, my hands
sewing themselves into the wall
you stood by like an album cover.

Sam Brenton

 

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