Poem 64: tv

this fragile mind moth
casually sleeping
in his holy begotten
crackling skull
drawing down
in cornered circles
to the palisaded box
our major national
night thief
in friendly shutters
and co-resplendent channels
divorcing the rings
of knowledge
living in repeat
of yawning eyes
uncovering the split jaw
of dog happy teeth
grinding canticles
that advertise
the polythene pure corpse
this weeks
pocket prime cut
followed
by a vital she
in running colours
and fleeting image
of a happy glass powder
promising the slug bowel
a sun sung
gifted morning
jingled in dungs

of fine feeling.