Futuro: Why hasn’t he turned up?
April 8, 2008In a stranger’s house I look in a mirror
it hangs over a sideboard whose sideboard?
a cloth in a sink ragged featured
that is the face of the stranger I see
who is not who I imagined
*
The Future: here we are but where is it?
The tang of zebra stripes evapourates.
This is a sort of island surrounded by mist.
A befogged candle-lit dinner. The roses gleam.
And brushing through the air like feathers: the bus.
And a mind shrunk to the margins of a wood.
“The story that’s emerging is there is no story!”
*
And a man who jumped down the stairs when he was ten.
And at dawn the orange bowl and it is full of fruits
that find their echo in how I once shouted at a wall
and it is full of blue apples the stripes of a zebra fish
are splashed again
with the effect of the moth torn curtains.