Wednesday, 24 February 2010

When Will This Bloody Spring Arrive?

deadpan interrogator snips my strings,
chokes puppet limbjoints with molasses, filth,
old rust and lassitude -
resistance spurs
flinging of firecrackers, drawing-pin dances,
submersion under ice: with blowtorch, wrench,
unseize stiff knees and elbows -
nothing works
absolute zero has its boring logic
that dirty substance, out-of-sell-by, rank,
unseasoned, clock-stopping, ear-stopping, sight
stopping and heart-stopping, a frozen muck
brimful with troubles -
drown in peace awhile
til by the actions of the stars and seasons,
though flotsam, castaway, a sodden wretch:
by draining of the tides, re-learn to breathe

3 comments:

Kate said...

I know. It's awful. If something doesn't give soon I think I might dash my brains out on the slimey grey pavement.
Wish there was some magic worry-vanishing sleep potion. I'd buy up all the stocks and share them around the likes of you.
K.x

Borderline Lil said...

We're in the middle of a 40 deg C heatwave but I can still relate. Lovely wordsmithing, D x

David said...

Why, thank you both. It started as prose, but the prose was so bad I thought I may as well take the good bits and turn them into pentameters...

Helped me, anyway. Like doing the crossword I suppose. Not a real poem.

Take care, Dx