by Richard Trotter

There is no understanding
spinning heads and strange aquatic eyes
granite words cloud the sun
and drown the Christmas cavalcade.
Not a single answer
when feet pound the woodcrushed lane
round the imagined sins factory,
this anguish is playful
like the devil on cocaine.


Posted on 12/14/2003
Copyright © 2020 Richard Trotter

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Sam Roberts on 12/14/03 at 11:24 PM

This is bloody brilliant! I especially like the last 2 lines, they work really well x

Posted by Ashok Sharda on 12/17/03 at 02:28 PM

'like the devil on cocaine.', what a illustration! Great piece.

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