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            I stared at the pattern of the carpet
            playing with my cars behind the settee
            while my parents said
            final things to each other
            the twirl of the branch
            a better life the
            curl of a flower you’d
            better go the border and
            never step back in this house
            again the shadow of the
            leaf is also a darker green

            I had never studied the pattern
            before – never had to
            never could – I can
            work it out see
            how it repeats

            I think something is happening
                with Mum and Dad
            on the other side of the settee but
            this pattern continues around
            the whole carpet

            only later – in bed –
            was it announced what
            I had already known and
            only then could I ask

            why does it have to
            happen to us and cry
                only when it was announced
                only when it was expressed

            I already knew but
            couldn’t express
            couldn’t announce only
            count the patterns
            drive the cars

            I cried but I was numb –
            pattern but beyond the settee –
            I could fracture from things
                just find a pattern

            you’re the man of the house
            now someone said to me so
            I studied the pages of
            black and white comicbooks

            patterns of power
            solving under a cowl
            jumping under a cape
            between the skyline and the world

            I shall throw stones high
            until they don’t come down
            I shall dig so low that
            no one could follow, no

            I shall count all numbers
            I shall collect all numbers
            I shall discover all planets
            I shall posture the heroes, no

            I shall number the histories
            I shall texture the music
            I shall shock the lyric
            I shall smell the books, no

            I shall sunlight the chorus
            I shall cry the biography
            I shall see the image
            and write them all, yes

            I shall follow the curl and
            twist the twirl under
            moonlight all night long

            I shall play catch in the rye
            I shall alors les boulevards
            I shall yin the yang
            I shall surreal the fog

            I shall honour my guru
            I shall marry my wife
            I shall father my children
            I shall teach my classes

            but forty two years on he had still
            just left
            and I still didn’t know
            how to be the man


            get out from behind the settee
            take a seat and get comfy
            say hello to everyone and just






childhood & green wormhole: 1963
comics & divorce & reading & sitting & writing wormhole: warp and weft
Eglinton Hill & music wormhole: south horizon
fog wormhole: 1968
moon wormhole: ‘Batman …’
sitting room wormhole: sitting room
skyline wormhole: biography
speech wormhole: dry rot
talking to myself wormhole: scatter
voices wormhole: satin poem