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The fur-lined malefactor fed a fortnight On lettuce carrots peas, Slyly keeping news from friends below.
Laden gun half-aimed, I stalked: That gorging salad-engine’s tender paws Which sensed the weight of lead shot in my pocket, And soft-footed off before I reached the hedge.
My shadow half-close, Approaching blackout had low odds On lead-slug hitting his well-padded neck.
It never did Though if that produce had been all Between us and hunger The senses would have sharpened And my gun been God Almighty.

MOTH

Drawn by the white glitter of a lamp A slick-winged moth got in My midnight room and ran quick Around the switches of a radio.
Antennae searched the compact powerpacks And built-in aerials, feet on metal paused At METER-SELECT, MINIMUM-MAX TUNER, VOLUME, TONE Licked up shortwave stations onto neat Click-buttons with precision feet.
Unable to forego the next examination My own small private moth seemed all Transistor-drunk on fellow-feeling, A voluptuous discovery pulled From some far bigger life. A thin and minuscule antenna Felt memory backtuning as it crawled Familiar mechanism, remembering an instrument Once cherished, Forgotten but loved for old times’ sake.
I switched the wireless on, and the moth To prove its better senses Mocked me with open wings and circled the light, Making its own theatre, which outran all music.

FISHES

Fishes never change their habits: A million years seem like a day As far as fishes’ habits go.
Beware of those who change them half as fast Like people every year or so So fast you cannot find A firm limb or settled eye.
The constancy of fishes is unique. They multiply but keep their habits In deep and solitary state;
Feel unique and all alone Not being touched and hardly touching Even to keep the species spreading – Unique is never-changing habits.
Fishes are flexible and fit the water, And though continually moving Never change their habits.

THISTLES

Thistles grow in spite of flowers, Brittle taproots drawing succour till the autumn.
Seeds flop from the hedge And at puberty suck their fill by beans and carrots.
Entrenching blade hacks soil, And fingers under thistle-spikes grip,
And easily out it’s tossed to the sun’s bake. A dry and useless thistle pricks –
Fingers gather and inflate with pus: For weeks the memory of pain.

RELEASE

Flowers wilt, leaves feloniously snatched, Birds sucked away — autumn happens. Frenetic bluebottles saw the air. Blackberries scratch with poison.
Love is taken before knowing the mistake. The last thief grins At the look of life. There are many, so who cares?
The trap is a loaded crossbow, Ratchet-pulley sinewed back From birth and set in wait. None walk upright from the bolt’s release.

LEFT HANDED

The left hand guards my life. I use. It uses. Sinister Alliances shape plans.
Left hand is fed by the heart Strategically engined Between brain and fingers, Sometimes filtering intelligence.
The left eye is in line with hand And pen. The left lung Rotted when I tried the right: Lesson one was spitting blood.
Vulnerable left side lives in harmony And liberates the rules, Rides monsters who fear to eat themselves, So do not bite.

NEW MOON

Since men have waved flags on her Classified geology with peacock colours Sent cameras probing every angle The moon has turned lesbian;
Shows brighter now in her woman hunger Goes with purpose to her lover In the Milky Way, nothing more from earth
Yet better by far than shining palely A mirror for courtiers to gawp at – And that stricken poet who ached In her unrequiting love but now is free.

OPHELIA

When Ophelia lay a finger on the water The cold and shallow brook scorched flesh. She pulled it back.
The fire was love. She was forget-me-not’s daughter, Each eye a pond of flowers.
She climbed the arching cliff Where water sent its clouds of salt, Luminous across the sun.
The nunnery was found: No one saw her body spin. A lunar sea-change sent it cleanly in.

ALIOTH THE BIGOT

A bigot walks fast. Get out of the way Or walk faster.
He walked faster too Veered right To evade me.
I increased my rate Hinging left to avoid The fire in his eyes.
Collisionable material Should not promenade On the same street.
We muttered sorry Then went on More speedily than ever.

CHANGING COURSE

Down the slope to the horizon Fix the black-dot sun before departure. When the day sets at the storm’s end Far along the moonbeams that flow in, Shut the barometer, hang the watch away Lay the sextant in its box.