Stephen Emmerson

canal road

A long walk
Along rivers of
Burnt wood
Yellow leaves
Stamped in the mud
The blood fills
The optic nerve
As helicopter seeds
Pinwheel along
the embankment.
Isms fall from trees
In pale sulphur winds
As clotted murky things
Are dust against the face
The water steals us
Away down stream
Our bodies cast
Like worn out marionettes
Against the spinning
Gaslights of stars