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The Point

entry picture
Try to unearth, explore
the water-clock secrets of the moths.
If really, they recreate the womb
or merely, they masquerade their amusement.

Like the cruellest home video
there is deadness behind the laughter,
and it was Beckett who
wrote that nothing is funnier than
man’s unhappiness. It grows on us like moss,
this search for secrets.

Unending shelves of spines,
and a Shakespeare folio, employed as makeshift pillow,
have not so far revealed why the viola swells
and inflates the unrequited.

We’re left to search the rain-soaked cobbles
looking with absent eyes
for the clear line,
the answer,
the point.

◄ Sunday Afternoon

Oh, To Live In Chechnya (thoughts on an afternoon) ►

Comments

darren thomas

Tue 30th Jun 2009 09:06

Hi John - Is this in TIOMITV - the final draft - not the one I have?



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