Pete Spence
Airs.
The Colour of Style.
is the adventure misplaced or stolen
lying sleepless beyond the rising rain
that is all talk dampening any enthusiasm
until an aching arises in the distraught boulders
fleeing the speech of erosion its saturation
and clustered panic like leaping porcelain
unchained in several directions
the hour adjusts to the temperament
skidding lightly at a brief angle freshly mowed
the sun vows to set hard against the rim
dissolves quickly like a brick wall
in a headache suffering your presence
as it takes in more air hard as slate
sand and more sand eroding a breeze
as vague as daylight in a lift stifling
a quick hour between floors tumbling
seamlessly out across the foyer
gaining speed colour and style
Train Spotting at the Bayreuth Hauptbahnhof.
tubas full
of bird seed
the parrots
ad-lib en-mass
o for one freed
spielfrei moment
or deciduous
gesture humming
a few bars from the
Gotterdammerung
under its breath
as someone pours a bath
while the orchestra
takes lunch nearby
in the gardens
A Nights Reading.
i put on my glasses
and the tip of my nose
becomes more apparent
now vagueness
has a shape to it
though the air
is no clearer
page 42 of Gastropods
In Gaudeloupe
and still no hero!
page 63
chapter heading
Snail Derails Train
derails my reading!
bookmark it!
i'm still wide awake!
i reach for Temporary
Tangles in Metaphysics
bookmarked at page 124
its not long before
i'm deeply entangled
in sleep!
Pete Spence was born in 1946. He is a poet, visual poet, and filmmaker, and has worked in various jobs to cover the ongoing deficit.
He is currently retired from work but not from any of the above.
previous page     contents     next page
Airs.
everything is vents
the air needs conduit
piped music blocks
the airwaves
to have
a nose
for noise
Tap Tap Tap
(some leftovers from a novel)
the sound
of a ball
ready to
bounce
the chorus finally
gets to mime
a fine powder covers the earth
daytime seems
to be watching
The Colour of Style.
is the adventure misplaced or stolen
lying sleepless beyond the rising rain
that is all talk dampening any enthusiasm
until an aching arises in the distraught boulders
fleeing the speech of erosion its saturation
and clustered panic like leaping porcelain
unchained in several directions
the hour adjusts to the temperament
skidding lightly at a brief angle freshly mowed
the sun vows to set hard against the rim
dissolves quickly like a brick wall
in a headache suffering your presence
as it takes in more air hard as slate
sand and more sand eroding a breeze
as vague as daylight in a lift stifling
a quick hour between floors tumbling
seamlessly out across the foyer
gaining speed colour and style
Train Spotting at the Bayreuth Hauptbahnhof.
tubas full
of bird seed
the parrots
ad-lib en-mass
o for one freed
spielfrei moment
or deciduous
gesture humming
a few bars from the
Gotterdammerung
under its breath
as someone pours a bath
while the orchestra
takes lunch nearby
in the gardens
A Nights Reading.
i put on my glasses
and the tip of my nose
becomes more apparent
now vagueness
has a shape to it
though the air
is no clearer
page 42 of Gastropods
In Gaudeloupe
and still no hero!
page 63
chapter heading
Snail Derails Train
derails my reading!
bookmark it!
i'm still wide awake!
i reach for Temporary
Tangles in Metaphysics
bookmarked at page 124
its not long before
i'm deeply entangled
in sleep!
Pete Spence was born in 1946. He is a poet, visual poet, and filmmaker, and has worked in various jobs to cover the ongoing deficit.
He is currently retired from work but not from any of the above.