January 03, 2008



















Not pylons estranged friends



Hold aloft electricity cables












Table reuses blessing














Small white graves walk along the road



Voice leads where meteor touches tooth







Sea defences made of clocks



Before acoustic cousins arrive











Loving old stories








All burnt porridge








One final telling






















One carriage train slowly crossing from recto to verso



On the flooded tracks now of course my pen will not work










A knowledge of loose hair




Followed across rough seas
















Story boils milk




Sweat wire wool





















The woodland one week old the trees




Barely visible above ground the emphasis



—David Berridge
previously appeared in part in Noon: A Journal of the Short Poem


Posted by dwaber at 02:18 PM