Monday, August 18, 2014

The Wind Claps The Slates.


The wind claps the slates;

all night they are hooves running berserk,

all night the wind is inciting them;

all night.


At twenty past two and twenty past three

and twenty past four I am looking at you;

how I would love to have hooves to come

crashing through your sleep, to burst into

your solitude.


And there I would, for better or worse,

demolish the muzzled years with as much

violence as reverberates beneath iron shoes,

as  causes such a frenzy in stone that slates


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