Abstract Poems

	Glory Boys Yes, this sound of thousands Could inflict such wounds Such Goliath goal-mouth dreams See, there on their muddied knees Brown hands are praying deeds Song after song As supplicants at this altar grass Worry seems lost, though still In the bone-crushed sky One boy ties a lace, another Knows his place and receives Nail after nail The field is smooth as baize Unhurt by the tide or agony's trace Of spot-lust years to come These boys are moving on Something twisted, wistful, gone Boot after boot The dream beyond the self Was a roar, not steel, not heat Not life punched into dust. © David Incoll 2001
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