Wednesday, 4 March 2009

To Anon

I am the girl, but never the woman
sometimes I wonder if even I'm human.
I am the mucus, but never the spit.
I am the kettle, the blackness, the pit.
I am the needle, but never the eye
I am the hair, but un-fashionable, un-dyed.
I am the turn, but never the table.
I am the bark, the horses, the stable.
I am the mow, but never the lawn.
I am the life, but never the spawn.

I crack your bones, I bend your cable.
You are the chair and the book and the table.

I am the voice in the dark in your head.
You are the blanket, the pillow, the bed.

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