Unclean


 
the  stateless    shadow
creeps    beyond   the vine
its bitter       repast    representing
near    misses      fired    into winds
of questing  angels     their dogged
determination         springs   from
hollow horns     into     sunshine  plays
 
dissected  from     every    view     point
in    passion    fringes   of        retribution
curled     into     the fashion     curt in
sliced       soundbites         etched torywise
into a shame       of        classic        cuts
 
bruising     hollow     the   ledger is castigated
bringing blackened memories   of     coal strikes
soften       weeks     of marching   breath
the soul     returns   as yet      unclean.

Clive Gresswell

 

 

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