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in
collection Winter
Hands, 2007,
Shadowtrain
Books, ISBN 978-0-905127-13-2;
first published on www.stridemagazine.co.uk
Fairground Man
dark hair curling
round your ears, smell of generators and cigarettes and
dirty denim, you open the door to my skin the ride of my
life the holding on the screaming inside the slowly letting
it out needing the breath of your sweat to take me in. you
watch me as I circle you, and I am your dog on a string,
your caravan.
cold
staring towards the back of a field where later we might lie
on trampled dandelions and stinging nettles, I imagine you taste
of garlic and cumin and wood smoke, and with these blue lights
tracing across my eyes, shouting go faster, your voice
is the lashing of rain against a water drum.
calloused
hands and rough broken skin, you call me darling as close
to my ear as a man can be, your mouth a pile of damp leaves,
your shoulders are burial mounds, your chest the bed of a river
I want to get down on my knees and lean into.
take
me into the dark of the field, where stars are below us in the
stretching arms of streetlights, where dogs bark in the distance
and my name is humming with engines.
Annie Clarkson
|
last
update:
enquiry to
poetry p f
Annie Clarkson website
poetry favourites: ShadowTrain
Lancaster
Litfest
Transmission
Stride
Magazine
Book
Munch
Sleepingfish
Salt
Publishing
Literature
North West
and in
the
shop
...
collection -
"Winter
Hands",
ShadowTrain;
in anthology
-
"The Big Picture",
Lancaster Litfest
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