Moths climbing from heavy velvet
Will it snow tonight in Stockport, Aberdeen or Cornwall?
From an ancient marriage cake he inhales every fragment
of deceit
And so Goretti comes to bear….
Time travelling to find the words are hidden in an letter sealed
before I started out
addressed to Phillip Larkin, still unable to get the sound
of the tapping snow out of my head
Morning morning morning! but banality beckons
The bearer of unfolded words from the front line.
January seems to last for 365 days
The bachelor son was miles away.
Is nigel posing for the Art Guild tonight?
Angels without vowels chewing the cud
Stuck between stations, waiting for an expanse of snow to write on
the snowman misses minus the irony of when the snow goes,
what will happen to him
Unmasked unclothed I watch the pervy pigeons swoop
by my open bathroom window.
