rainy window painting acrylic on canvas

 

Contained in strongskins, drops are pelletted

into transparent pebbles, dechromed mercury

caps, scurrying little animals

on worried dizzy courses: some mouse their way

to bottom, reach end still bullets,

ski gravity’s forced maze.

Some crash while midfield, meld into streams –

these estuarise, plumpened by tributaries

of lower collisioned wet. There are patterns

planted in the pitter-patter on glass,

a morse code of soaking, tuned into by plants.

Outside water-braille is scrolling runed snakes;

things such as hands would be heavy, be

meteorites to that language. What’s needed is taste –

but without tongues, the green cradling of high leaves,

a telepathy of absorption. This is just surface-shouted speech.

Another one where the idea came from somewhere pretty obvious! Under the influence of the Australian poet Les Murray here, which would mark it out as quite early. All of these pieces were written in a succession of shared houses and flats in North London (and maybe one or two later ones after I first moved to Bristol actually). The most attic-y room I had was one near Newington Green, but I think this must have been written well before I lived there. The picture, which I like a lot, is from http://www.nicsearth.com

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