By Dylan Thomas
What is the metre of the dictionary?
The size of genesis? the short spark's gender?
Shade without shape? the shape of Pharoah's ec?
(Questions are hunchbacks to the poker marrow).
What of a bamboo man among your acres?
Corset the boneyards for a crooked boy?
Button your bodice on a hump of splinters,
My camel's eyes will needle through the shroud.
Love's reflection of the mushroom features,
Stills snapped by night in the bread-sided field,
Once close-up smiling in the wall of pictures,
Arc-lamped thrown back upon the cutting flood.
1 comment:
Dylan Thomas does suit boatyards. I can just smell the salt in the air. That rather questionable harbour smell. Mmmmm .... nothing like it.
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