Poems from my sketchbook – 2004
A Week in Prague
This table of fortune understands its people who gather to sing as
the night becomes fragmented and swans fly towards islands on the edge of town.
The stone is harsh reflecting a ripe memory of oval pools astounding
blindness avoiding sacrifice of metallic powders.
Prisoners between mountains exploit delicacies made from satin
during evening summers designed for opera singers – radio stars – break their hearts, shattering the party mix – flavours of fizzy messed up people understanding
the children and their reflections mean everything. No matter, the colours will return to all the wishing walls.
the wishing walls are loved forever.