I’ve sunk my metaphors into unmarked plots – Like teeth into the skin of an apple (If you like) Wanting the sweet flesh to yield, To give Me Something, To trip along a theme While the fecund fields lie fallow.
The sun’s got my back though: So the future can hold a shadow imprint projection, A paper doll cut out of hope and blind ambition, While the Present waits shivering in the proverbial river –
But edges blur And myopic mirages have been made of us all.
Mephisto Leaning on a lamp post, Testing the weight of borrowed coin. Pockets so holy, Don’t know on whose ears my prayers will fall.
© Georgina Barley 2021