Sunday, 4 May 2008


I have collected these winged beasts
nine insects jostle in a teacup, their dusts
pollute the surfaces, they are enchained
and disoriented by their entrapment
their small soft bodies dry as spores
are difficult to identify, i like them well
their silver netting, their gaudiness
the way they shivered on the air
just before they aimed and fell
the captivity is a kind of reckoning
their inward fire, the cold precision
with which you placed them
i might crossbreed them
i could do with more-

I toy with one
upon my finger, the tip I drew right down
your face, the one you told me off about
so cauterized- I burned for hours
until I realised you were not serious
you never are.
They crawl on me, their flags bear symbols
warnings, prognostications, their decals
diagrams of lovers in flagrante
that I note down carefully- choose to ignore.

Each purple emperor, camberwell beauty
swallowtail and poplar kitten
all amount to a small collection
their brief pulsation lasts half a second,
when I caught them in the darkness
as your mouth came near to me
should I pin them to black velvet?

do you think I should set them free?

1 comment:

Justin said...

Woh! Excellent poem!... i go helter skelter through your words and i come out the other end disorientated and stirred...