Prionsías Ó Canáin

Listen to the voice of the river
It carries tears of the thousands passed
Scattering them to sky and sea and earth
Then quietly speaks to you of dreams and cares
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Have you ever sat on an unhurried train
And watched smile, after corkscrew smile
Painted thin on a puffy faced sky.
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Pass the salt,
Is, he thinks, what it is she had just said
As he raised the forty five right angled to her head.
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Sure, not a bother, McGraths is it you said ….
You’ll be after being at Mary Ellens funeral then.
A great crowd and the priest spoke well
Fine day for the living is angels by the grave for the dead.
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After angers expressive leaving, angst arrives.
Planting seeds of more imagined trivial pursuits
Assembling argument to assault envisaged lies
Taking prisoner of tortured fact and truths
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I am X...

The tightropope walker.
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