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published
in Poems 27, winning entries, Lancaster Litfest,
2005;
in
forthcoming collection, Looking Good, 2009, Shoestring
Press
Falling Down
You
choose fino, not amontillado
because
it is less gross.
You
refuse an olive.
Your
hungry eyes search
the
bevelled glass.
You
watch your elegant
articulation
of bones.
You
are eating yourself.
You
refuse an olive.
Bruises
flower blue on your legs.
You
have almost perfected yourself.
It
is always Lent and you are a Lenten lily.
You
have given up the lunar flow of blood.
You
are perfect as a snowflake travelling upwards
or
the quarter moon, pale in the morning.
Yesterday,
an apple entered you.
This
morning, an orange segment.
You
would sip air, have clouds for your food
while
you feast on the good meat of yourself.
This
sherry will down you.
It’s
as strong as the scent
of
great brown wall-flowers.
This
is fire-water, moon-shine.
It
will down you and drown you.
You
have almost perfected yourself
through
a long murderous Lent.
You
will fall. You are falling. You fall.
Carole Coates
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