Saturday, November 15, 2014

Pam Brown

Missing up

there is a truce and it's a relief     but you're already
dispassionate  and you don't care about propriety
air stings your ears with long lines of thin sibilance
a blowfly catches the current in through the doorway
and out again where you've been missing up all day
no one knew where you were nor what might happen
when the flame caught the agenda and melted all intention     
someone yelling get away get away  you shouldn't be there
can't you read the signs     in a crazed ecstasy of contempt
crying like a fire in the sun  you pass out on top of the contracts
unfinished piles of blueprints and declarations that in writing
now denote your status as a stranger that's the opinion
of the specialist on your body of work as they used to say
before you argued against the phrase and against everything else
that drove you to disappear and hole up beyond location

                                                               © Pam Brown


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