Friday 2 March 2012

In the bullet

He sneezed beside a dead woman
Who was sat upright in her clothes of bunting.
Moths flew in cascades before the tomb was closed.
A man cried a tear of gunmetal slag that stuck to his cheek,
While around him faces fractured like the sea
And a woman with the face of a sleeper crusted with ice.
The sun turned to pearls at my shoulder
And she curled her lip like a fish.
The woman who was a cat blinked at me more than once.