Tuesday, September 14, 2004

Death, I will not touch you (2002)

Dedicated to Bill Wallace, who (inadvertently) inspired this poem.

Death, I will not touch you:
you are yet more flesh
I crave to touch.

You are visionary; you are
looking out from
a dark room.

There is a glint
of light, where
a bullet perforated
the paper wall
of my chamber

(from outside...
all the clamour outside:

the sleepless demanding
to be let in).

I dream
that you
look in
on me.

is slow
in the dead letter office.

And these

cold headstones,
the wind combing grass

in waves;

the sky
a sleeper
never waking.

There is no


  1. Reading through this Collection of Thoughs has been a delight, but this grabbed my attention instantly. (Could it be that I know the person who inspired it?)It *spoke* to me very strongly in that I found it cold yet warm, black yet white.

  2. Thank you for commenting, Kat - I'm glad you've enjoyed reading my thoughs. And who knows, perhaps you do know the person who inspired this one...? ;) In fact, it's funny you mention this poem, because I've recently been thinking of reworking it... it's an enigma, but I think it could be more fully realised.

    Cheers, Stu

  3. I've revised this as of today.