The man who finds himself amusing

By | 1 October 2010

Cara clowse in Cowse1

The photograph is a forest
and pin-prick enchantment.
Cords tighten.
Chords brighten,
managing running images.

Touch the invisible!
Hands buzz simply in a new direction.
I am empty,
twirling, shivering.

Talk of meaning?
useless nothing.
Empty the hand.
Names of blood

Misread the bones!
Anachronism falters.
My throat trills your ears with a quietening curse,
the other identities as ghastly
as the cycle of nature.


1. Mediaeval Cornish — nowadays carrek los yn cos — meaning “the hoar rock in the wood”

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