ROUGH STATE Comments

Open the door of the poem.
The house is empty.
The furniture you'll need to make yourself,
A cupboard for the unslept-in sheets,
And for tales that no dog wants to hear
There's the odd shelf.

You will need to dress the view
with your life and scribble fire
In the chinks in the wall.

Not an hour goes by
But hunger enters in.
The clock is made of graphite
And no one lends you days.

Half of what you make
Has already faded away.

There's no front door any more
And the back door swings wide.
Can you hear the wind inside?
...
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