Tunnels

 

Tunnels

 

She’s calling me, come away now Geordie, come away

from where your mother once should have spooned soup

down the phone to feed some smallest dog in the world,

so small you can only see it with closed eyes open wide,

or I am David, standing stark naked, I feel nothing inside.

But come away, sweet love, come away and come back,

don't build libraries from happy hours in sorry need of repair

where boats chase boats amongst secret water’s hidden lair,

flyleaves are itching for tape, your bindings lack glue,

book's stitchings in threads and this yacht wants for crew.

Bury me in tunnels, mountains of adventure and come away,

stand like Icarus, defy gravity with these sweeping wings

upon some vertiginous man-made stockade, dream and spin

dizzy in tossed aside and bide flight for some better day,

oh, my love she’s calling me softly now and come away.

Here be monsters; triffids come real possessed of death’s sting

even though the years have fled from the horrors you bring,

strike up your damned orchestra, sing your vile duet, sing,

wake sleeping kraken with midwich cuckoo’s stabbing pin:

Geordie away, come back where my warm skin warms skin.