Moths climbing from heavy velvet

Will it snow tonight in Stockport, Aberdeen or Cornwall?

From an ancient marriage cake he inhales every fragment

of deceit

And so Goretti comes to bear....

 

Time travelling to find the words are hidden in an letter sealed 

before I started out

addressed to Phillip Larkin, still unable to get the sound 

of the tapping snow out of my head

 

Morning morning morning! but banality beckons

The bearer of unfolded words from the front line.

 

January seems to last for 365 days

The bachelor son was miles away.

Is nigel posing for the Art Guild tonight?

 

Angels without vowels chewing the cud

Stuck between stations, waiting for an expanse of snow to write on

the snowman misses minus the irony of when the snow goes, 

what will happen to him

 

Unmasked unclothed I watch the pervy pigeons swoop 

by my open bathroom window.