This is

another of those

teetering

one-on-top of-the-other

Jenga poems

about the spidery cracks

about the

flaws in our armour

holes in our hands

dry rot

black spores

x-ray machines

white shadows

sorrows etc

cracks in the ceiling

fissures in the floor

snowfall in the prefecture

of Ishikawa

and here are we

light-headed

walking with a camera

through the picturesque Lakes

as they rise

and the sun shines

on our shiny pates

our rheumy eyes

glitter

the usual poem

runs its course

of course

small white legs protrude

beneath a fallen wall

as a sleek machine

climbs the empyrean

I’m sipping coffee at my desk

savouring a Jaffa

referencing

the Musee des Beaux Arts

The Sleep of Reason

etc

the usual poem

of contemplative empathy

ending in dismay

and yet pleased

at words arranged together

as Holub notes

‘although’ ‘at least’ ‘when all else

fails’ etc

nevertheless the poem is

and I sleep the sleep

watch the News

and feel the tremor