Rumour [poem]
Wandering wiseless on some smooth
indecent steep and sandy dune
he wondered if those grainly rumours
could be true that he should stand
astonished, still, in front of only unly you
who’s not (viz. yet) been met on this unset
trajectory of pain and pleasure ride.
He waits just as he’s done for thousands
more besides this molten lava year
(if time indeed exists outside this sphere)
as fragments of ideas hurtled down
through treacle air around his cadence.
The boy (disguised incizely as a man)
unzipped the trousers of his dreams
while making footprints nakedsomely
on the beach, wondering still if steam
and fire were out of reach; and hopes
of follow filled his wrinkled heart and
looking over-shoulder shysome glances
(though he knew the dancely oftenness of
worthless folly’s frown within the open
confines of his lebensraum) he marvelled
at the accuracy of the timepiece worn on
Neptune’s arm and Davy’s locker loomed.
.
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© Alan Morrison, 2013
The Naked Troubadour 