Abstract Poems

	Groan Where is the invisible hand that drags me Holds fast my feet of a thousand tonnes And vacuums dawn's breath with eerie resolve? What dream of abyss or flood or strangler fig Tempts the darkness from its hole and folds The bootlaces of early sunlight into my shoe? Why is there an army of angry bees in my belly Finding there a nest suitable for a thousand stings Another thousand ways of ruining sleep? Who stretches the very blight of the blackest hours Thin and taut like a net of cauterised butterflies Straining at the edges of any universe? I have lost all idea. Whatever swirls below or above What guts inside and from out, what whimpers meekly From the driest seed, grows and gathers my fate. © David Incoll 2001
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