If postwarwickshire is neither post-warwickshire, post, nor warwickshire,
What is it?
What is it, (a lurch,)
Nonsense hymn sheet in stained window,
Or the very stain that’s suspended
Over the glass-
Some sort of overlay,
Enmeshed overlay that colours streets.
May it be a grammatical form that congeals,
Essential congealing of gelformed events,
Events hanging/ Flying over A46,
Or the very site, that first got into me
First facilitated,
Hole in jeans,( holeconscious, )
Appearance of flagellated
Falsecut state of metal implements which
Served to signify some other unknowable thing.
Wasn’t yet present with it—-
Wasn’t aware, just hauling myself over the grassy hillock
To the petrol,
To aloe vera juice.
Smashing the ground underneath-
Wrenching open bacon and mushroom
Lying stale on the tabletop.
The spectral form (me)
That’s hanging in the parkland exposed—–
Elemental exposure, wanting to just
Tether myself to the Nunhead undergrowth—–
That’ll get him again,
Or make the form disappear-
Put it back into priory park,
Right where the dynamite sticks sent
Bricks careening over the Atlantic.
Terror! Or
Several hundred sounds at once-
And several epochs
Glinting in the sword’s reflection,
Even when the stab’s made of wood,
Or plastic,
Brass, steel or selenite,
Absolutely nothing to do with it———–
Absolutely nothing at all.