Mirror and Garden
There is a river running in our walls.
Tears erupt through the groan of bubbling plaster.
A lunging silence beneath every floor.
The architecture is discomfited by this clinking dew.
It has no conscious account of itself.
(We conspiring
to rummage in whispers.
Rumours will deafen us.)
River running through our shallow halls.
A brimming brown mirror, scattered with pond
and the plunging buying propecia online pools of bloated landfill.
The neighbourhood is unsure about this new sinking.
My garden is surrounded by demand
(we are wanting
and our plumage is in tatters.)
Nick Norton: Prose in Brittle Star, Vignette Review, The Periodical. Poems in Anima, Octavius Magazine, Obsessed with Pipework, The Interpreters House, Iota, Other Poetry, Envoi, and elsewhere. http://nicknorton.blogspot.co.uk/ Twitter: @NMNorton2