Poem 476

The gloaming again … stuck in a moment and you can’t get out of it as U2 would say … finding yourself unable to cross the gulf of an hour to the outstretched hand on the other side … this is more about my fear of feeling this than actually feeling it … it owes a bit to Leonard Cohen’s song Dress Rehearsal Rag …

( I like the shaving foam like ice … )

Endless Interim

I will probably die at six o'clock
in the evening
that bottomless hour
discovered under the lather
as stroke by stroke
the face is laid bare

six o'clock in the winter
the day tired dark
suddenly seen as unsuccessful
in the flat bathroom light
foam slides from the razor
like ice

water in the basin glistens
goes cold
long before seven
endless cocktail
                                 interim
when someone slits their wrists
dinner invitation
still hanging on the phone