When I finally found the fly-swatter,
I couldn't find the fly.
Such was my excuse,
Why I didn't swat the fly.

Night,
I love you
like a bride
loving her body,
the madman
the desert,
like the horse
loves its shadow,
the sad the lighthearted,
I love you like
a wanderer his ballad,
a poet his dark room,
like the moon.

my heart is in my chest

a particular siding





i feel it sometimes

when i am walking hard or eating chilli

so i avoid that last thing



mostly



pink i expect with tubes

mostly like in the pig’s hearts

mum used to buy from the butchers

for dinner



now i am vegetarian



i think that if i have a soul

it may be behind the heart

hiding

and maybe that is where my work

comes from



it seems odd that at times of rest and when all is quiet around

that i cannot hear it

nor the other workings

like lungs and veins and stomach



oh!



except the latter rumbles