Cool space. As soon as achieved
assaults redouble, and again.
Bluebeard, his smug key thigh-hanging.
The tide comes in, leaves beach bare,
when out should be in, when in, out;
gull's eye gleams from climbless roost.
The figures come and pass the window.
Seagreen shutters the house fold-blind;
inside what half-heard laughter means?
A dim hall obscures mysteries,
bulbs have been torn from sockets,
the lamp-click in dark could be teeth.
Cool space is a pinnacle rising out of hell.
It is not found in womb or casket.
There must be air to stretch in.
Ready To Rock
3 weeks ago