special Saturday night treat: a sneak preview of Kevin Davies' "One-eyed Seller of Garlic" (excuse mild-reformatting)--

17.

Nothing to do
but study the architecture
of the abandoned Recluse
And examine the way Bill
deletes Dot
from various poems
containing daffodils and not
But I have stood
and stared, if not stooped
to labour
And I have introduced
a new and crucial content into verse
Defending the dalesmen and their ways
Making
visible certain devices
But I won't be translated
into French
until 1949
And I am surrounded
by trick questions, which I avoid
As I would a papist, or a Fenian
A terrible hangover one Grasmere morning
Smack dab in the middle
of literary history
Is one fucking
cup of tea too much to ask?
I ask you,
bending into the head throb
Is it all a waste
The mere ante-chamber of the chapel
In two, thirteen,
finally fourteen books
I will describe the terror beyond god
Waiting in
downtown Bangor
for the bus that connects to the mall-hopper