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Poem Forty-six
We buried the statue by some standing
stones
you know, the ones where Andrew found those
bones
the ones we cursed to sit on the shelf
next to charity shop penny dreadfuls
I followed leys to this place
passing under the gates where rotting warnings
once hung
but this belief is a chronic
problem
the doctors can't cure it
and I've been framed
by its rituals
the spoken word was never thus
just watch the bulrushes and turnstiles
and sweat
as I put my shoulder to it
and open up the earth once more
March 8, 2007