Dig up the ghosts and give them words
He said they’re colours or material
When it’s red, coal, tar
And you feel it in your shoulders
He remembered a painful scowl
A crushed samovar
And his mother wound’s dark eyes
18/12/2023poems/material
Material


Dig up the ghosts and give them words
He said they’re colours or material
When it’s red, coal, tar
And you feel it in your shoulders
He remembered a painful scowl
A crushed samovar
And his mother wound’s dark eyes

There’s fog for 20 metres from here From here to screen To midwinter For the chill to draw out this splinter If I could, I would. See? I’m restless But in a wrestle Can’t follow the weather Can’t stay in the metre

Choose your fighter carefully Or you’ll be a well-honed knife That’s in search of fear It was a path You laid out For yourself Well, I’m too old to lose a breast As I fight for respect In the name of a straighter shot