Thursday, June 09, 2011

my dead uncle

the uncle has died the top hat
the high hat the cartwheeling
avuncular aunt in her/his sleeps
the last lap before Runcorn and Rainhill
he has gotten off at Edge Hill his
hat that flies afar afield I swear
he was alive when last his face
his bomber sheep convertible
slowmotion dunes crowd out
his face a sort of function a sort
of etcetera a sorting and clipped
masonic scouse that elides the top
hat the vat the fatcurled cat the scat
and scant the cant the pant the rant
of garage sexpower the whole
damn shower nothing but a chair
lies he there the brother wyght
eek know his fernal troth and plight
a sort of half-love of which were made
this shade in Lancs half-glade and clade
the chair still warm imprest the rest
to rest to rest enough the high hat
on which he sat long and did rat
all things earthly 'neath his beastly bat


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