Friday 30 November 2012

Snared



 
I’ve a snozzle
For a distressingly putrefied pride,
Lingering rustiness
In a milk-and-honeyed world.
 
A squeal for break-no-bones intentions?
Ha!  Heads shake.
A puncture of confidence,
Slump head-teeter
Into a tub, Scotch-fuddled.
 
We’re plunging into a flow,
                              Conversations –
Obliged to unsnarl riggings
To hitch that sort of pull.
 
You used to swank the whiskers
Of a tin lion. 
 
By Christopher Barnes, UK