Wednesday, 9 September 2009


We’ll call 9.9.9 today.
No emergency or urgent need,
Just the calendar arranging its kids in a sequence familiar
To people here, and universally accepted;
Even on the other side of the pond where they
Tend to do things differently.

We won’t know what to say.
Village violence builds from the silence
Of the massed middle classes on one side and idle dialers on
The other, whilst sky pilots worry about
Passengers pouncing out into the aisles and
We wonder if they can fly.

We cosy up to the old and
Ruptured who swam here when God began; or have
Fun under coat loaded beds, well until the guests leave, with
Virginal minds working on the fringes of ours,
And urging us on, but has anyone found what
They sought in proportion.

Morning shakes and takes
Another rib, no doubt at His jaded bidding,
So fasten a hardy buttress to your fourth wall for more support,
And stand firm. In keeping with hands held
To help acclimation, welcome to my world,
But unplug that phone first.

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