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Tuesday 21 August 2018

or gushing (DRAFT/UNFINISHED)









where the glass
    with vines
                keeps the hours, 
      the gilded bells
          raise the 
    hungry and 
       they fall out 
the solid earth
   into a plume, 
     against nerve
     embittered
     my ring fingers 
          in the mud chaste, 
         feed the instrument 
from the voice
in your head 
    mute the
window to 
     the sick ear,
when hour
        is ruined 
      love lace 
    glove mires
   oxygen as
  sweetness 
        is happily hushed 
    to find a 
        new job 
      bless the house,
it is yours