October 10, 2009

The Soldier

The Soldier

I watched a film.

Came back, sat down, thought about poetry and hatred.

Air had been pouring into the room like pints of milk.

The window had frosted because of February,

And a thin yard of light was rewinding on the floor.

I undressed and washed.

I redressed and slept.

The moon baked my hands.

Out of the nodding oil picks,

Infertile waste whipped up

With errant winds and wheel beats,

He arrived like Sheba,

Barely there.

The room collapsed

To the size of my pupils

He ignored what home there was

And we spoke.


I called her.

She came round.

We fucked like the world required us.

Clutching time.

Fading out,

With a pant for the morning light.

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