Praftfalls of a Lover
He clots under my snuggling, squirms,
False light on dazed feet.
He’s a hobby-horse to twitter
With an at-a-loss voice
In a beer garden shut off into details
By slogan-crusted screens;
Conceit fills the bill
Of the illusionist.
Instead, a rodent-rash beard chafes
In the vacancy of a thunder-clap gallery.
Trotting out in postures (oh love!)
We were reptiles before the storm.
In stop-gaps our clucks mood-fluxed.
(Oh hate!) We’re still antipodes
To unserviceable hogwash.
With tight outness of front,
Stupefying apple pie order,
You ringleadered hissing counterplots,
The breath of revenge.
Cramps in the throat.
After making love
Write luffing notes
To your wife,
Hum, caged bird.
In its own heat
Touchless as wind.
Tinkling murk for clues
A trumpet-eared Miles Davis
Of the sky.
Beat its declaration
Copyright ©2008 by Christopher Barnes
Christopher Barnes is a British poet, born in Scotland, who in 1998 won a Northern Arts writers award. He has published extensively, including the publication of a book, Lovebites, and has poems recorded by the South Bank Centre in London. Each year he participates in Proudwords lesbian and gay festival. In 2003 he read at the Edinburgh Festival as a Per Verse poet.