08/09/2025
Acupoetry.
Let’s get all spherical, my lady,
Or conical: soften the ride
Upon this bridge of bones.
Know the fawn still soundly sleeps
Upon the cushions of the heart,
Snug amongst the soft karma shreds
Of redundant iPad Pros.
So, lighten up. Look into the powdered sky.
Five ducks on a wall.
Or a flyover of retired tiger-moths.
Wrap those sleek legs around the shopping trolleys.
Metal on thigh. Kiss the EFTPOS.
Look deeply down from the holy atrium
Into the rictus. That’s right
Sardines stuffed in flat tins
And in the back alley behind Tapas
They’re fighting anime, (two aspects only)
And in the midnight church of broken bottles
They’re assaulting the stained-glass windows
With slobbering profanities:
The B-b-b-bad boys, the Look-at-me boys—
Bustin’ poetry with rum and nouns.
So now, my Lady, engage your acu-thumbs,
A bit of spit, and wipe the tika
From my brow
Hellespont was a foolish thing. My other
Should have known better.
My other now a tone-deaf rubric cube:
And the poem now shrinking
Into metaphor, objects inanimate and allusion.
And there are no verbs or modifiers in the kitchen.
Poems scraped on toast.
Needle and meridians. And you might ask
How then can we love whilst beauty burns
When Acupoetry turns away.
