EVERY TIME ALL THE TIME
‘My great friend Mary died last week after a short
period of sickness. Feel desperate and sad.’
In upturning the root cause I thought I was girdling
our moral fibres, and I would have said it to keep your
chin held high but I know you’d rather stay ugly.
Every time you stick it to me, all the time you sadly
let schools of hyenas, balloon-like, into the sky, so that
empathy takes more than making new or
solitary posturing. If I am stopped from parading
my marauding red cheeks I will lose, because
I haven’t executed my mission yet, which is why I can’t
spare you a caress and why I couldn’t continue into the sky
too. Every time I draw the outline of your face to a close,
all the time I race to hedge my bet. If I theatricalise
my woman my dreams get better, supine orchestras
march through the streets to your house but rain still falls past
everybody driving their car, all people wiping noses and the dry
hospital linoleum. Every time I ask a bus to mow you down,
all the time I’m the one peeling off like road-runner.
I’ve just received Amy King’s new book in the post. I’m going to review it (though not sure where yet) and I’m very impatient to read it, but I’m about to go to Chris Goode’s reading at Toynbee Studios tonight. He’s been described by the Guardian as “one of the most exciting talents working in Britain today” – the Guardian mostly knows bollocks-all about exciting poetry, but I think they’re right this time. Caroline Bergvall is also performing – so, interesting reading (practically) guaranteed.