john clinock Poems

through time
we point our proud bow
to the open sea.
Warm winds swell the canvas
...

Even as the center holds
various preconceptions
of mirrored identity -
(Sensible face,
...

In May.
Sensuality blossoms
on your skin as it
rises to meet me.
...

Ultimately
cannot sustain the roses,
they are not comic paper blooms
fed by alliterative liquids,
...

Torn by autumn
up against the wall,
and the fall is long.
...

Abandoning their armchairs,

stubbing out cigars,
...

In the rain,
repair is complicated
and plans misplaced.
...