Tuesday, January 15

Something I had of inside of me

Something I had of inside of me died Something I had of
inside of me I know died because loved it did I and now
it is dead because its rotting flavour is tasted inside of me

Nothing like it was does it look like these days; (was once this
magnificent yellow summer these kiss-chases and swamps
forty-forty golf clubs & football endless footballforeverandever)

I know it is dead because I can taste it at the back of my throat
and it tastes of worry failure other people and hangovers dead
flies and everyone abiding by a plan no one was taught at school

Something I had of inside of me died Something I had not heard
call to me in death as above a lie-in falls but died silent slow
and its death is something I am responsible for, bearing on & on

but I know it is dead because once it was alive and we prayed
together for months at a years at a time and it put
freckles on my nose, rotted one of my teeth and really loved me

And now I am writing that something I had of inside of me
died and I know the precious word and the pressured corner
of my eye makes a sad lover’s bowels move and I try not to

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