Telegraph Hill

A poem that didn’t quite make it to the National Poetry Competition.

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Telegraph Hill

 

A whisper in the ear-

 

Telegraphed by lines that seem to prohibit ‘it’

 

The black hole wears my smiles

‘Come to bed’

Perforated shield of lead

Filling a conversation pit with blind spots

Let me curl up to you a while.

A window or a cage-

Diffracted milk

 

The most unrecognisable parts of the everyday-

Telegraphed

 

By lines-

Permafrost falls on words that didn’t fall?

4am Zeitgeist and frozen

Shadowed street was still visible

Victorian Shudder

Rolling crumble

 

Telegraphed by lines that seem to prohibit ‘it’

 

Let me curl up to you.

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