My poems:

Butterfly. To Elaine Clarke.(written on co-op shop footwear paperbag-where I worked, (for a couple of months – before hitch-hiking around Britain), whenI was 18 years of age.
– she: worked opposite the co-op, in Lloyds bank).

Flapping in her cage,
Splinters her wings on the bars,
Butterfly, panics.

But to no avail

All is dark
She pants, breaths, dying

Because the world
Is not as I see it?
Or because the world
Is as dried fruit see it?

Mysterious, unknown things
Within yonder Lloyds bank prison.

I can see through its walls
I can see a butterfly,
With broken, white wings
To an adding machine.

If I were more than
What I am
I would smash those walls
That butterfly would
Heal in the sun’s light
And fly away.


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