Blackberries and Ice cream Jazz
Waiting alongside the railway line
flowers opened on a branch, butterflies
alighting – Blue Morphos – as fine as
Gentians, finer, delicate as moths caught in long
tongues of light, tongues as long as the fat vase
of their bodies – sipping at the flowers
——————————————– of pullman coaches
———————-are stretched towards a refusal.
here there are no charms or lucky heathers
———————————————–hemmed into rough skirts
or into the strange geometries of
———————–wind disturbed leaves busied up
————————————–against great coats.
There are ears like bent thumbs
————————————-waiting to be filled with the cries
of barrow boys
of hmmm hmmmm suits
———————with bright red ties.
The street is red, not burgundy, but a hot powder is dust
———————–to the subway
of blossoms pink as errant corn,
when the river is blue as cold.
Used with kind permission of Alan John Stubbs and The Onslaught Press.