no, sadly not
This is one of the first of your ones I've read that I really related to.That awful man
Lint and peppermints,
wretched voice which makes bad opinions worse.
We intuit some science behind it all, implicit in the frequency range of it,
in it's mucoid blockages and nasal flattening,
in how artless it reveals itself
as excitement overwhelms it
cracks it's dull veneer, animalises it
to honk and squeal
in it's blind mole groping for approval, in the pleading implicit in it,
all of it corresponding to a
like congestion of the soul, to a vulnerability that
invites cruelty. We see it all laid out, as though we could plot it
on a graph, the shape of it, just where it is pinched and depressed,
where cramped and deformed by shame and fear.
Something sadistic rears up in us
Imperious and disdainful
Take this wretch away
And dispose of him!
This one has a touch of David Jones about it. I like it.And here, perfunctory sweeping gesture, the rites of Mithras were performed
ghost city below the city, chill earth, worms turning, rotting Roman brick.
The city of the dead, sandalled feet slapping against the mosaic floor,
echoing in the high ceilinged chambers. Head full of sums, how many amphorae aboard that ship
rate of profit, spit the plum stone into the palm.
Rhetoric not what it used to be
Provincial governors on the make, bad air of the marshes
heron swallows a rat.
A wave of classical marble breaking and receding, ruins behind it the tour guide turns on his heel
and we trundle after him, up the steps
to the light