Goat Spider
Air warms the room
a freak show atmosphere
leave only proteins
from the milk
a throwback to early
affections
the salt does something
terrible to shoes
monochrome visionaries
indifferent to the squall
of a wintry ocean
pet-like names given
unaware of process
silk steel gathered
on an electric bobbin
Frozen Servants
Slow motion
alone
voices distant
a silence
defected
by
mist
There are Holiday
Homes
During the week
there is
nobody
a dead area
it looks like a
desert
in the middle of the
forest
Security of mist
destination or shelter
there is no lit window
can Ambien wake
the near
dead?
depth of silence
virgin snow
cello song breaks
piano chord repeats
masks footfall
Andrew Taylor is a Liverpool poet and co-editor/publisher of
erbacce and erbacce-press. www.andrewtaylorpoetry.com
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