the rain came so hard it blew holes in the granite we'd prepared
the right notes cluster
they're just in the wrong order
indwelling appendix
led astray to continue in a place —
(terrible musical isolation up here)
our London loop, a kind of trance
as in after all
a lodestone absorbing cancer cells
weighing in under an estrangement
reading the more perverse
maps in the sand grain
out from the headwaste,
alphabets of mercury sliding,
a motorway fatigue
a duet with charring speech
concealment and disrememberment
another job lot lost
keeping you mute at the rim
of our principality as some other.
a conspiracy of diners
carried in litters, passes
voice cased
being an unrealized scarring of the surface tact
but then, who hasn't?