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The Ground


Each day I lose it
Rows of once-loved words
Lost in hands and feet
Feed their nonsense
Onto nameless streets

I pull them down
Bit by bit, fishing
Each careless frown
And family photo from
The wreckage of this

I open up this ghetto
With its stench of sweetness
And the light pours upon
The serifs and staccatoes
That I once imprinted

I plan places where
My buildings are friends
Where windows draw air
Where a faint light sends
The hint of its coming

I pick at each kiss
Unstitching nightmares
From the weft of care
So the ground where I am
Becomes the counsel

Of the happily numb
And falling into life
Has no start nor end
And the earth has a thirst
For a million of us


© David Incoll 2001


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Copyright by David Incoll 2001