Friday, 10 June 2011


tune your chord of silence
to my feverish song
not cold and coarse
but as if we were swinging
on those powerlines
in full-voltage silence

now dance to the chord
of my fever, not our fret
the one we knew best
if you recall the ways

turn away as a milky calf
pigheadedly mute, laugh
throw down your instrument
and kiss my unwashed cheek