seven poems

nobody ever talks of their ‘wasted middle age’

*

disposable
chopsticks

*

poetry, once a potential cause of death,
has become ‘self-help’

*

Mohair

her suit
hirsute

*

Performance 2 (for Sean Bonney)

There are those who lean forward, into it
and those who lean back, out of it

*

to be driven at furiously
by a yellow duck on a tricycle

*

the smell of new mown
pneumonia