Alan Finlay

 


A fear of misfortune

The weeping shell of onion skin
burns in my chest.

A fear of misfortune
undoes my shirt. I am a spade heading for dirt.

Earth be my shell
as i hide in your tumour.

Red road, your distant shadow
that comes to rest on this house.

Gnome of cloud
your changes
are fortunes.

Table of light
in your internal ear,
a child hiding under a tablecloth

peek-a-boo
waits for your invitation.

 


Deepshit

Comb
of memory, warthog
of truth
that goes about battering leaves.

deep shit,

The feeling arrives
on your
doorstep,
coddled in white linen.

You're in deep shit; later
you close
the doors the corridors
you close the emergency exits

The room's waters rise
cover your ears, with that childish feeling.

 


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