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HAT
The valency of your face framed by the open door.
Her hat I will talk about before it's off your lips,
parted lips that wear a day-night deal, hankering
after her hat, and her head that holds her hat,
masses of hair that block the moulded felt
blue, ease the band of burgundy a little.
Our hands in collaboration. Come in off the street.
I pretend you have nothing to tell me. Sit down.
Your tongue is bud-less, so much so, the fine
saliva stitching has worn away a soft pink.
I've seen her too. Her face has the priority
of silks, her body the plain severity of space,
Derry boots hold the shine of her ankles footfall.
Stand up, let's talk, let's walk around the table.
You're younger, she's older.
I gave you Sentimental Education, you chucked it back.
Open fire, tender buttons of rain. We're here again.
Set up the glasses. I'll get the Jamesons out.
Cut tendons. You slip. Tell me what I already know.
You've been round. You loll, a top button open.
She's cinema against the sash. Slight resist. So she gives
like pastel on stone. Autumn kiss. I am silent about
my mouth on her mouth on your mouth, silkscreen print.
From The Way I Dressed During The Revolution
© Jane Weir 2005
The valency of your face framed by the open door.
Her hat I will talk about before it's off your lips,
parted lips that wear a day-night deal, hankering
after her hat, and her head that holds her hat,
masses of hair that block the moulded felt
blue, ease the band of burgundy a little.
Our hands in collaboration. Come in off the street.
I pretend you have nothing to tell me. Sit down.
Your tongue is bud-less, so much so, the fine
saliva stitching has worn away a soft pink.
I've seen her too. Her face has the priority
of silks, her body the plain severity of space,
Derry boots hold the shine of her ankles footfall.
Stand up, let's talk, let's walk around the table.
You're younger, she's older.
I gave you Sentimental Education, you chucked it back.
Open fire, tender buttons of rain. We're here again.
Set up the glasses. I'll get the Jamesons out.
Cut tendons. You slip. Tell me what I already know.
You've been round. You loll, a top button open.
She's cinema against the sash. Slight resist. So she gives
like pastel on stone. Autumn kiss. I am silent about
my mouth on her mouth on your mouth, silkscreen print.
From The Way I Dressed During The Revolution
© Jane Weir 2005
| 1st Collection |