squinting at the bullet was no fun
until the narrator came along
he told their story dose by dose
enough to keep us comatose
falling through the hole in the roof
shivering on the wooden ground
instant coffee for the chills
Winter's coat – sometimes it kills
days spent wandering around
drunk rewriting their story again
some scenes are still rather bland
he casts drugs on rotten land
intoxication is his lovely oath
tell me, did I perchance say
'Can you reveal the narrator's dream,
or is Mr. Winter kissing a scheme?'
the narrator's acquaintance
substitutes sleep by Βάκχος
catching whoever is of use
throwing off those who refuse
picking the laws to apply to him
emerging from pits of smoke
nicotine to sharpen his con
Winter's coat – the cold has won
ferns taken care of since seeds
cherished, eternally young
the lights are getting too bright
he shall curse this plodding night
intoxication is his lovely oath
tell me, did I perchance say
'Can you reveal Mr. Winter's dream,
or is the narrator kissing a scheme?'
the narration was too straightforward
the dreams were too fragile
the schemes shattered in one night
no one will take that booked flight …
YOU ARE READING
The Jackdaw and Other Poems
Poetryas one grows up one tends to forget how one felt a couple years ago I am the same amount of a novelist as I am a poet between my lines I captured my emotional growth and the battle cry that I am back from the dead
