Stone Water
In a room of stone,
at the gate of water:
to lose the friendship of air.
The draft of love:
underneath: the heart
is a fume of sinking rocks,
delivered by water, on seaflower ends.
Time grows feet,
suffering wings, on the upturned sole.
Tongue, crimson ladder,
zipped up in a uniform of skin:
I watch its images drown.
Mouth to mouth, mouth of hell,
plate of blood, I leave it with stone,
rolled over in front of its speechless eye.
The invitation of air:
we exchange cards; air visits my room;
we drink out of glass words a mix of empty signs.
The text of motion is like water to stars.
Austin McCarron lives in London.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment