[The following band of golden thread has been kindly shared with us by Happy Cow's good friend Simon Drew. When he is not busy leading the choir, Simon can be found fronting the band, conducting the orchestra, heading the cast and running the online groups English Stuff and H.A.T.S.T.A.N.D.(O.N.). If you are all wrapped up by Simon's poem, why not show your appreciation by clicking on the 'Like' button at the bottom below. Enjoy!]
I
Previously the ribbon of our lives
was a darkened strip
along it I found
that your tongue had come
upon some speck
and withdrawn into your mouth
snapped up into safety
unexposed
II
a platform
sat under us
in a kind of fever
it burnt the grass
the dust
no loneliness
rivers will object to this
they want to be followed
from the mouth to the source
crumbling into dust
perpetually
believed to be some genesis
lying in this paperclip
III
who would think
that the skin here
right underneath my tongue
still has not been exhausted
the firefly
which I have never seen
more than briefly
still is held
deep down
upon my jealous rocks
when soft things
preach and take fright
from the darkness
that others call home
ripping down the walls around them
when that which is only real
is something
out of reach
that they want us all to hold
closely
attentive
triple extremity
clearly defined
but on the common
nonsense
shriveled in the snowflakes
there's a lie
it was not me
who beheld them
you could always forage
to light your fire
sustaining
no cure no cruelty
no spines that line from the leading globe
that drinks on all other pleasures
yes blindly
blindly we hunt and find
maybe a scratchy counterfeit
it could be everything
criticise
all repetition
unless it is within
one
loyal
is you break it
because
you are no one
forgotten
if your paper
was fake
driven
out of everything onto little out of nothings
out of wind to whisper
harder than to shout
you strike away from yourself
let others catch your pain
differ, let it differ, drawing out your feathers
fly with naked pink wings
with a head full of stones
a correspondent aching
the sign only was
that you
ah ha
you lost it
ah ha
driven
over under sometimes
a preposition
chaining up the angels by the garden path
struggling to hate a part of yourself enough
so it is no longer part of you
and then you call it someone elses
lets sit on the back of the horse
but it never is the true horse
always a reflection
unobtainable
your obsession with the physical
you deny yourself
call it all a miracle
every breath is an explosion
of pyrotechnics
branching out
the airwaves
bumping out our ears
make them useless
give in
one word
one word will never come
your life is a sentence
you had better keep it.
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