Thursday, March 28, 2024

Letter #6

                                     ‘Do I wake …?’

Keats

 

Her joke’s on the onlookers

who make a spectacle only of themselves

as they crowd her room each day

 

By night she forgets to exist

The galleries and all their work

obligingly go dark for us

 

Impish experiments thrive instead

like the unexpected gift

of a cake stall in the middle of hell

 

Such a beautiful humour is so inhuman

it’s a cloud that hovers modestly about her

rendering her unreachable

 

                                                                        27 July 2023

0 Comments:

Post a Comment

<< Home