Tollerton

Gotham Pastures

Tollerton Airport Apron (Revisited)

Verse 1

I am too big for the front room, see,
Afraid of The Mirror.
And methodically take off my head,
Placing it on the silver elliptic tray.
But it was only ‘ablenkung’*

Why,yesterday, Old Nick
Played a record of loneliness to me.
Then, just for one moment,
I see myself under the bridge,
Exactly between cities.

Then costumed, from Newtown, see.
‘abgelenkt’, you were,
Transparent bodies
In you, below the belt,
A poison 'gift',

‘A Life Change’

Verse 2

Now I am,
Stern on the wings of an angel,
Heading for the nearest church,
For Martyrdom, on the guest list.
The Bright way to Stations,

To triangles, symbols see,
Of birds, beliefs and Indians.
Above and below the belt,
Revelations, have become so many,
I can hardly keep up.

Verse 3

Like seeing Talacre and the last party.
Just now I stepped into heaven,
Flourished where soil was:
New crop,
All most ready.

Treading the paths,
Of a Doppelgänger.
A Doppelgänger,
In Alcohol Dreams.

Pace the earth cracked,
As a Fallen Shepherd, fall
Across the drain, to
Gaze on the Lone Pike.

Verse 4

Before television, see,
All they had was Rainbows,
A kind of tragic joke,
Now framing Bassingfield field.

In 3D,see,
Rain spots,
A black apron,
Run away.

Emerge then from The Pillbox,
Of windows and rifles,
Going Out to the Light:
Like something missing in a wallet.


26th December, 2005 (Revised, 20th, November, 2009,)

‘ablenkung’* deviance

Schlachtensee

Schlachtensee

The winter flight now over,
I am bound for the frozen see.
Figures of Ice, gliding,
In the persistent evening chill
Change tack towards the station.
The heat sinking,
Through No Man’s Land
Past heaped snow
In to East Berlin & out again.
On middle Sunday,
Then habitually alone,
Aware of the island now
Its flirting scale and diving parts
A natural slope
Designed on high.
This is holy to aliens
Ay!, and metaphysical
Where gravity riddles.
At obscure daytimes,
When souls are notched,
Persuing the falling sun.
Languishing as the day’s palours began.
The shadow-less black swan,
Glides in then out,
Musing on the certainty:
Of leaving.
The bathers
Slowed down to a repose,
As others worked,
The waves brush strokes,
Of a picture.
From gloomy Sonnenallee,
To sweet water,
Then glide over to Rehwiese,
To find the border and gypsies gone.
Now the Wansee train,
Cuts the forest,
Like a fire sword.
Then there was no summer to speak of.
In mediums of light and air,
In lines under, on - Above.
In the vertical Sacrow forest.
To winter swimming in the black night.

Rewritten 11th December 2008