Poem: lookout/outlook by Alan Whitfield


outlook/lookout

Smelling salts provoke senses

make me watch,

make me Stair,

as the ballet is performed.

;

Up,

Pirouette,

Stretch,

Bettering.

;

The Humbug sheen

pulls you to its fulcrum

in and in,

deeper.

;

Again playing,

moving your mind.

Pockets rise as it breath before me

reaching far returning near.

;

A Line so long straight

like a taught table lace.

Only when you look so far

does evolving stop.

;

Dark gray lightens

as black mass encroaches

still tight, but moulded angular

Does it come to great

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