ALETHEIA
Drenka Deirdre Dreidle.
Year-a-doll.
Heyerdahl.
¿Tor que?
Truly. Why true me.
A pit and a spat.
But a some of sum talent.
Sometimer.
This order than. This is an order:
To peach in the name of his tea-leaf
the spate of his grog.
DUSK AT OLSZTYN
Today I picked a flower: another one.
A party will be held to mark the date,
which I, as before, will attend. As before,
so again: it is bound to lead nowhere.
The query will resolve into thin earth
as will she, in Time –of which
I harbour countless hidden caches.
So I have stepped unhurriedly into their midst
bearing the markers of the hunt, with no-one
the wiser: for no-one is wiser than Death,
the destroyer of nests.
They tell their daughters that
I could be anyone and that is as close
to the bottom of things as they’ll get.
It is not close enough.
THE PEACOCK ROOM
To whom it should concern.
Sir Leyland, prisoner/proprietor of Liverpool
I hereby return my work in full
Not I, nor you, have use
For efforts so impressively expended
The basis of the world is blue
The walls replaceable and cheap
But you, I trust, shall have no use
For Whistler’s other cheek