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Patricia Farrell

From Logic for Little Girls                                              

wiped

     by the handkerchiefs of ghostly conformists
     eyeballs die
     desolation
     as a landfall
     near its populous trace
     rolled quickly
     when pushed against
     an inquisitive interface
     in every thoroughfare
     a print thread of the civilisation
     thoughts of the civilian
     returning string

 

a substitute for Spring

     what you
     dare say is
     what is
     I dare say
     a material of several remastered prosodies
     a dance routine as a substitute for Spring
     distracting you from your plan of lacing the tea
     as a delicate countermovement
     that looks like
     not posing like the rest of us
     reading your face on the back of your spoon
     less for your expression than your classical technique

     I
am watching twigs unfurling
across soggy ground
     I
have many clocks
but not many of them work
     should I even if I cannot
     fly
     in spite of living
     the instructions somewhere
     lost in piles of stuff
     before I started
     I couldn’t remember
     if worms benefit from an education
     or is that just the mice they feed on

 

Nicety in my Larder

Then came a cream dessert,
     the lurking of an old fib in my tablespoon.

A butterscotch-like demeanor
     filled me, 
     from the delicious nozzle of an emphasis,                     
     that it dollops not persuasion to be read.

Evincing no syrup,
     I resolved to follow the strawberry whithersoever he should go.

 

in summer

do not wait to be given a piece of paper
pick up the brown crayon
and write no

if you let the winter in
the

this pencil is too short
and now you must run even faster

 

Copyright © Patricia Farrell, 2017.