Blink

{rabbitpunch}


Boxing assignation and stutter-fly beats lead
up a garden path to squeaky clean hands
Fluorescent tremors tick their own list
And filthy paper-boys deliver vials with their bare hands.
Mittens tied together with paper trails and the seeping
crushing imagination of a corporate giant,
Lose yourself in the sheer collaboration of it all -
obsequies humour and little else left
but slowly seeping dyes and quiet royal indolence,
This and many other testing trials rig their hung-recesses
like so many cowbell-fairies and dope anvil sprites - you and
all our lazy contributions to the waning genre of sleep
collapse into silent collusions like wartime poets dipped in liquor –
this, for one brief desolation, is your arcadia, not pastoral at all,
not some far-off tranquility buried deep in smoke and hills
but here in steel-grey artifice and the sloshing gargle of pure gold.
Blink and you’ll miss it dear, this terrible world, blink and you’ll miss it maybe.