Saturday, 22 December 2012

Sherborne

Industrial clangour coming from the rock band sawing
guitars steam-hammering drums shaping
sounds: I picture paint splashing
expulsions of colour.
All of this contained in a white cuboid
hip but a cheap effect, really
easily achieved. What is a required
is a vacuum cleaner sphere
top-half white, the rest green.
Flexi hose directed into
this black corner where,
so my childhood imagining
ran, lived the most horrible
of all spiders – a shaggy-legged
horror with moon-cold eyes glowing
in the dark. It's a wonder
I ever got any sleep –
the worst nightmare being
a weathered and wooden
post with a hole
into which I poked my index finger
which is the very thing
you should never do: my blood curdling
as the hag inside grabbed hold
and never let go, dreams not complying
with the daytime schemes of dimensions.

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