Dr. Carl Hill Collection (Book One)

Delve into the pallidity of a fresco

while I'm alive, I appropriate homes

telling rames wanton tales of my own.

The dusk will be back

and before the callous rust

too, the hunters' attacks

like an old chariot lost

sweeps the forest triggered

frightened it's bereft of spur.

Time wants me at its bridge

long ago, I took to my heels

bread was served no athlete

water seeps out of their body

as patience sits cold at its dish

none in time saw a face of worry

with that day not by a beginning.

Once, I wielded an old saw

mountain-tall trees fell headlong

but by the roots, I suffered a drudge

for my old saw — I got axes, rejections

by the same leaves, trunks and stumps

the lost in miles of loggers’ thoughts

I was poor — alone, in short

but I had books, journals, new reports

and a day of envy, I stumbled on a retort

it was Little Red Riding Hood in our folklore

the woodsman’s role gave a jog thrust

all would see me through this proscenium

only if I would, could I save the child; man up

as the wolf, my saw had big teeth that cut

and like a newcomer fresh from audition

cutting with my old saw by a new brochure

I discovered all along, I'd been a tired actor

with no more words or spirit as an old chorus.

Heartbreak is like a bullet

a daytime ticket

on a bus to neglect

my heart feels withheld

so the change kept

my ass on the seat spread

all feels likes pretence

I only own cheap bread

the noise I digest

thoughts in the press

characters over a model

they read out abscess

a mind's home absence

the usual jail sentence

so visits on the weak end

I'm the best

what else

the bus stop is past death

I cheated for myself.

I'm a bat with two nights

two fair dice, every flight

one pip helps me decide

‘tis two moanings till I'm ripe

two hands, born in daylight

one after another in recline.

It's a dark world

so I got withdrawn

through a brack in its wall

I was called

lent to be born

so I'm here appalled

what you think is lost.

I should be in the lamp’s pour

the seating we so jostled for

the tryst of our labour

the parlour of our rancour

where brushes are pardoned

so no kiss is abandoned

at the louvers, at the suburb

where we shot first at blurs

but of another bore

tinctures we got to discuss

sailing winds stale of rigour.

How do you do

your dupe so prude

felling whelming my mood

so I drew it abstruse

as the fraught should

your legs sangria lewd.

Doors get their drab

as old lovers by the draft

impassioned soldiers

offhand dadded

my shoulders by their racks

amazing what never blanks

notoriety of the ed in regard.

The knee coal

kneading slow

all that froze

I saw the aglow

lowly known

a lonely host

barely afloat

as it took to roast.