Fleeting
from Prima Materia, 2018 These pasty arms made of plaster hold the imprint of your tiny body shrivelled little thing The hands remember the feel of rubber — a ball of elastic bands folding into lumps Your vernix coat, moisturiser with a water-base, it washes away but my mind refuses to clean the memory with a towel Could I make buds of it, scented and stuff them up my nose to block out the dreaded aroma of roses? Gazing into pools of dribble cobalt cries that scratch the marrowbone clear out Hollow bones for rattles shredded nerves in place of peas or dried rice There is a nagging feeling that soon, crow’s feet will not be the only pattering, and learning to fly will shortly follow I’ll watch you float amongst the stars Selene in orbit with Leo stalking close behind
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POAETREEHere you can find published and unpublished and never before published and publishy poetry from Thom Boulton, from his collections Prima Materia (2018) and Gebo (2021) as well as his online only collection I Have Eaten The Dead For Breakfast (2022) ArchivesCategories
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