Paul Sands

the wrong climate

While the vacant edge might offend the sea

No appointment is necessary

For this mortician sleeping in

Muttered anguish

So many fingers will hold you down 

For only so long

After that you can but grunt in the sculptured forfeit

Of a jealous vessel

Remember though once the rescue is declared heavier 

Than clearly prudent

The hut on the shore will rise even

As the house falls

Enlist the sympathy of the mournful papers

If you wish

Though the slower bayonets will wreak havoc

Greater than those serial promises of denial 

Though leper suitor I may be the

Brevity of my advances was matched only by

Your breath

squib

Rigid truths and squared guarantees

Texture this boy

His morseled fantasies 

The graceless torrent of impotent gods

Wary as the wasp on the chameleon's

Trapeze tongue

For even as the microscope remains

Boxed, in cotton, in woolen peace

Rags may still record

Fidelity's soiled tapestry

Once stung, the swollen speech

Of reason's soured and thickened song

Bastards the condensed apprenticeship

Fields a howling, childish drove where

Dreams so quickly cloud to sheep

I could so easily...shhhh 

You shall not impeach me for the rhymes

That I decline

 

Paul Sands was born in 1962 and raised close to the River Trent in Nottingham. Working from the age of 16 in the IT industry, between playing in noisy beat combos, for twenty-seven years he was downsized and outsourced in 2006. After dallying with photography he now lives and attempts to work in Lincolnshire.

He self published his first collection of poetry, Ego...Ergo (ISBN 9781471758676), in June 2012. The summer of 2013 saw him publish a second collection entitled Scratch (ISBN 9781291525168)