Knife Hits Nerve
Caught cold in dead november space
between dark and dark,
sky sinks like ether
over crumbling consciousness, and
there is no more pain
or joy:
simply technique, cutting through layers
without feeling
and behind the house
where you do not live any more
sit bright tombstones, open doors
or, if you were to look further,
the muttering city
that we were meant to retake
for the Kingdom of God
but could not find the key
Uncertain now, we see
a line of blue on the horizon
but darkness overhead
Knife hits nerve
in the windowless room
Tim Lenton is a founder-member of InPrint, the poetry and visual arts collaborative group. He is a former journalist who lives in Norwich and has a website which includes some poetry.