jangleboned beside crowds
a-part of me
hippedy-hop don’t stop running jiggling through them
smallhanded, jumping jumping
my tacky tactic sulk
sinks in sunshine and a note-tumble
(plastic cupof beer) they wrap me in their -hopsy- smiles
on sunday when I swam the bay: chalk cobbles shining
whitey-grey blotches on my blacksuit swimsuit
then then the traducement of (where the bloody hell were you?) last thursday sank,
plash
plop . .
towelbound with saltwater coffee and yay-mummy hugs
it didn’tmatter
it doesn’t matter now with the beat of the swing band
the beat of my tear-gland unmanned.
This does hippedy-hop. It’s wonderful!
Thinking doesn’t actually happen in nice sentences like this, actual thinking happens much more like one of your poems. They are closer to actual mind events and therein rests their rereadability, evocativeness, mindsticking quality. The words are washed on waves of thought. Brilliant.
I like yay-mummy hugs… sometimes I forget how much. xxx