by grimbeau



Let me be your Trilby, you can be my Head.

Let me be your reader, you can be my read.

Walsingham, Cromwell, Karla, and McBride

Spied, entrapped, intimidated, lied

For a living.



Peeping out the back door

Omnipuzzled by sleep, back from the faeries

Of Morpheus, a windgust insists retreat.

This season it rarely does gentle persuasion.

‘You who dance the light fantastic

Are likely for the collapse drastic’

Who said that? I see no talking mammals.

Ah yes! Last night a chatty Bactrian camel

Detained me most welcome between mares.

Another cold steel wind stabs me at the front door

That’s what erstwhile friends are for.