A poem by Caroline Hardaker
stop, stop now,
soft hum. Glow.
Husks of shapes, but slanted; all looking sidelong
for a face averted, travelling. I watch them,
Tongue on gums, chewing half-eaten thumps;
words, blubs – beating to be out,
the taste of vinegar, salt licks and
sudden leg cramp
a mouth full of day, unespecial day, sodden,
dripped on dark, a black, a blank sheet;
a hole, a horse – on fire, banners lit,
who is the lady that rides the horse, it is white
Gobs digest and regurgitate a mirror-day;
a casket, a woman, a wreath,
she sits in a room I know but have not visited.
The walls are irises.