in triplicate
(for russ)
 
 
don't point
 
elaborately
the absurd makes
a blue-green
imperious intention
from only a thought
glowing in the grate
 
possibly telling
 
but as though
to mean nothing
 
to be
cunningly prepared
to put
the poisoned truth
in its eye
for now
 
and burn it
 
as if even this
could result in doubt
 
 

after you
 
in all I spin
of bones and blood
 
vexed before even
one empty word is forgotten
 
this is
going
to be all
there is
 
this is where
forever is for now
at least
 
and with
this whole truth
like roaring bullets sent
 
like loaded bones
 
my bones
 
my blood
 
all I spin
is propped up
by circumstance
 
braced in time
 
again
and again
down
dying
and last to go
 
 

in the woodshed
 
equally
 
quietly stealing
a transient belief
that probably never was
 
for real
 
be it only a means
to always feel always
a part of the species
 
would be
 
to take it willing
from the drab symmetry
of sad po-faced days
 
all rather long
 
but days nevertheless
in which to be alone
still shameless in each other's
 
suburban smile


   John Mingay 2015