PLAY’S THE THING
the play’s the thing
unless
forgetting throne, crown,
father poisoned in
an orchard
I decide
to step back, tell
my tale of woe, hereafter
sleep
the peaceful sleep of one
not wracked with guilt
unforeseen consequence
collateral damage
take two succulent heroes
(a loving pair)
get them lost in
incestuous forest
without grid reference, compass,
guide
and so
plenty fairy tale time
to languish
in the bracken
strangle conscience
beg
to be thrown into the brambles
when smeared with tar
in this
our era, ’tis plain
how easy it be
to get smeared with tar
(a whole
industry created
to make it stick)
or
as if lifted up the tree
canopy high above,
in hydrogen zeppelin
or on
cushions of helium
think
ladder, cloud, spiral
staircase, deus-
ex-machina
elevator
escalator there
only to
convert into metaphor
lost babes
no more
but Castor and
Polluxed
fully
soaring, rising
high as poetry
complete
as blue
moon
lucid
as song
tale we might
recite together
the metre faultless, not
a rhyme wrong
poems 2 die for 