Iain Morrison

Dragonflies in their surround

 

                                                                                                               An exuvia or

an eye opening to the extent they expected to         hatches or eyes    

                                                                        fleshing thick

flower systems gone by         and by and by     and by

canal boating              putt-putt

the planted eye-stems chopped         floral the extent to which

for illustration if they're yours you'd be shocked that they

kept opening wider

 

Ys and

eyes widening further than in their expectations they expected to

            water and hurt/s                    propper seeps stares

deepening the extent not that they were expected to

    vacant in leisure

            shadow on shelved river section reflecting

where the sun is         it's still below us

the boat's the pleasure motor

the moment    if it fell                     clipped

 

cleft  into

slow fornication          of the

muds               parting rounds of us

   in lurid (suspense)   in vivid summer suspense     

a canal of held breath

lived pent in safely if need didn't lever up out of it

nymphs nose face-up to surfaces                      breaks

           

for example    you would be shocked wouldn't the first time

cut flows for you         breathing in locks

need not to open so wide or (don't) you stop to pass through

but thanks narrowly to me    

              you will be    still a head kept on      fluid in mine

 A heart no longer opens to that which it accustomed to    

            bleaching in grass                                dial of wings expelled      

                 shell of body no longer attaches to that which it once responded to

Iain Morrison lives in Edinburgh, works for The Fruitmarket Gallery, holds a writing residency with John Hansard Gallery in Southampton, has a collection I'm a Pretty Circler coming out with Vagabond Voices in 2018. And I only use this kind of language here because I'm allowed to.

© 2018 Colin Herd and all the individual poets

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