‘a loved body’
tincture on tiling
69 x 41 inches
of a swamp
bent their knees for
where it        had been
where it        had to go
the classical            cannon
in sheet music        on its lip
the two-noted  siren-riff off-by-
as a rally cry.
a gasp coming at you
L-O-V-E is shrillest at
past the octave’s
what are the chances letting air in
makes it easier to lift?
a           window           chest           fallboard           rib           oven           district of the throat
brittle case             of the dormant instrument             inflate his lungs with               anthem.
is there truth in: too much water makes a person
derogates a house?
there go the double           leaf           doors           on                          the                          wind
glass intact as the neighbours’ miraculous sleep.
red flare of day firing for the horizon.
the brigade! what are the chances
that it makes no sound? as scavenger
to meat. as one bureaucratic mouth
to another. it is here nor
there? coming nor going?