(on the occasion of her fall from grace at St Paul’s)

no promise
of a retrospective

this, as all marble
is cold

    stone of the dead
    head stone tomb stone

it will neither welcome nor deny you
whatever you give to it
can’t be received
or returned

what of the fall?
what filled that graced unseemly void?

that last dance

were all your thoughts..
was your thought..
was there
thought?
was it lost, as you were?

I know I should care
I wish I had a howl in me for you
history and lies brokering
some stupid story
as we worked that day
with mops and buckets
toiling against uncanny gazes

I shed my own tears, all for me

such a joyless carnival
sham and shame
bent backs and old
still enough to hold these bloodied fancies
above the truth

Leave a Comment





4 × 3 =

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.