ARR 1988 - Flipbook - Page 110
Capital Park (for T.)
Euclidian play-yard of flowers lined in rows,
empty rapes of glass-eyed tourists
but at least not the sterile contraptions
and their rubber-suited drivers
we complain of in the grey suburbs.
Leaning my head against the curve of your thigh
(you ask me what life "this" is)
Dali knives of languid grass
stab us where we sleep
in drowsy cigarette gardens.
A bum over there is swallowing
a flaskful of infinity;
you paint the scene:
he caresses a delicate rosary
in alien tongues,
gets insights into the secret method of trees
we will never understand.
Geoffrey Nutter
96
