Then Beggars Would Ride

Joan Miró — ‘The Hope of a Condemned Man’

And it occurred to me then as a pint glass occurs to the side of the head

That I wasn't ragged back in on gritty, shelled shores from foaming riptide

Like I said I would be

And whilst I was missing in stasis, that silent solvent stasis

I had to make myself make a silent wish

A silent cobalt wish that would withstand the salt and erosion

And would outgrow the foliage and not wither amongst it

And I wished

X

That

My daughters

Would be a flurry of

Hair

And glinting steel sickles

And glistening fangs of ivory

X

True ivory

And humour and drollery

And both spittle and fury — interchangeable

And levity that would dislodge rocks and smooth out the ravines

And when that

X

Is done

When that state is achieved

Then, only then, will I —

— Like a candle with a fault

Combust and consume myself

And for just a most insignificant flutter

X

Become a Falcion of white flame

And to splinter, then

Into a million

And, as those million, to be a single almanac

And guide towards warmer climes

Where the laughter and clinking of bottles and baying of dogs are

Truly all empty — but nearer the truth for it