Thursday, 13 April 2023

Poem - by Alan John Stubbs

 

            hard here and now.


solid as a railway sleeper, hard and thick

you can drive a knife right into it,

if you’re a physicist



go cut off a slither, or pull on a splinter

that has somehow lodged deep in a finger,

burrowed under skin

and gone to rest.



inviting as a new idea, lit and beckoning

lacking any sense on closer reckoning.

always just coming or having just gone

you can’t pin it down, it lacks all reason,

travelling with you like a second,

third, or fourth, skin, and the rest.


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