poetry

F{at.her}ho[od] / H[us.band]ship

 

Fatherhood was easy, a dod-

dle like Google, compared with the

ca[l]va{l}ry that is this rushing away

from clear routes and path-

ways which be-

witch and confuse: I know what

I’d do, everything being eq-

u-

al, and yet the es-

sence and sens-

abilities we con-

tain-

t within this i’m-

perfection I exhi-

bit right now, a tad and slight-

lying I run like a child to con-

template and wizard and run around

boldly.

Was I ever made of boldness?

Can resilience be used to describe the man

I’ve been?

Does strength of purpose inscribe the

love I’ve shown – or is weakness my final dis-

membered leg-

acy?

 

(And what about you?  Why remain so

si-

lent and borrowed – like second-

hand book?  We shook each other

so fab-

u-

loosely free of convention.  I need to hear

your voice this one day soon.  I need

to hear your voice of swoon-

in-

g-

ain-

fully gently tinged northern-

ess-

entials of lacy sauciness: as saucy

as heart-

y good food on the table, next

to salad chosen uncertainly that day

we braved CCTV: or, at least, that was me –

not you my dearest breath of

walking glory: every morning to

see your face by my side, and me forgetting

the charger behind the bed we made

right: I clearly never wanted to leave

your brave side: the pain and the gory

natures of

love: I wanted them all, and still

love the juices the body I

know refuses to allow me to suck

and nourish and nurture and

row, like couple making up on

trips on boats out of reach, into serpentine

lake within our reach – and our love as that winding up

revving down of

sex, where sex doesn’t

suck … but, then again, will – if you

see what I mean-

t: and we saw each other clearly,

we always looked closely at the feelings of the

other: and I so want your window open and like

pussy carefully entering, to investigate

as foolish newborn the wisdom

of this [uni-

{qué]

verse}.)

 

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