That exile that becoming vigil
a lurching imposition on
the world – ice cream in
great scoops from that house
on the hill, in the park, in
love with this section
disarrayed by the heat
must be much to triumph
at locating Ornette’s suite
crowd chatter as ascending
scale or sacrament or ashes
wrote home to the beck and call
of others – things are terrible here
do not come. Things are sometimes
my best friend’s house
An owl - one of those - oh again.
Here it is, all talk of fortitude,
alert in a moment. A bargaining
quid, the shallow step in snow.
Imprint in a solid state after all,
wind it up – glib –
then comes a sun, a fizz on the rim.
Chirrup a shade and
over this season, oh and another one,
this timely one, catching a break.
Andrew Spragg was born in London and lives there. Recent books include Tether//Replica(Sprialbound/Susak Press, 2015), OBJECTS (Red Ceiling Press, 2014), A Treatise on Disaster(Contraband Books, 2013) and To Blart & Kid(Like This Press, 2013). A new book Now Too How Soon is forthcoming with Contraband Books.