Double Agent

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Double Agent

Lately I have watched them covertly,
One jumps at the sound of a car being unlocked
Paddling in supermarket car park puddles,
Staring at me, when I take the bins out
One held a dead pink and yellow fledgling
A flop necked joke about augury.

They have deep indigo eyes
The cornea a violet meniscus
Of sundogs and starshells
I see cumulonimbus
The tense glitter of mica
The little boat of Hokusai
Forever ripping the tunnel

I do not listen to you any more
Now that I know about such lenses
I’m hiding in bushes
Ferocious as a blind sniper
Turning the outside in.

 

Veronica Aldous all rights reserved 2018

Drawing of unknown girl by Veronica Aldous

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The Little Devils

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The Little Devils

Such warts! said Father Emil
As he opened the shed
But it was just fungi nobbling
The surfaces of the racks
Where once-apples turned into leathern bog men.

Outside the the paint fell Rizla-rolled
As foxes scrabbled underneath
Squabbling in the foundations
Pooping blackberry pips and undigested
Valerian stinking binbag slurry.

Inside skewed and sagged wallpaper hung
Ensor-throttled shreds of  pretty leprous swabs
Lisle stocking bedraggled
A harmonium jammed in one corner
Propping up the window ledge.

Breathed an asthmatic stopped-diaposon
It fainted clean away into faint lines
Drawn on the air in lithe spore-curlicues.

There was no grey father, no priest
Where all things are nutrients
Brood hypnagogic spectres
Wheezing breathless brain- ninnies
Lecterns rise like ruthless giggling bibles.

Ergot stung the eyes.
Father Emil raised the skirt
Of an overwintering chair
Legs emerged, full blown chorus girl clawed feet
Which cantered in mid air
Showing mildewed mahogany thighs.

 

Veronica Aldous 2018 all rights reserved

Drawing-Little Candle Ghost- by Veronica

How ink will help me understand

 

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How ink will help me understand

So long to arrive, stamped FORGOTTEN
The pale blue vellum, the dark words
Each beautifully formed curlicue, a flourish
To assuage long spent terror, tears.

The messenger was a page
This was hidden in his things
He meant to post it, or he did
Look, here’s the doghead stamp, the imprint
Inside he says how much you meant
The unspent years.

Veronica Aldous all rights reserved 2018

10 o’clock Paralysis

 

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10’clock Paralysis

The tin dog barking his guts out
The three notes like a cracked gong
She can feel him bashing along
The corridor, his tail striking the dado
In miserable happiness
He has been heard by a woman
With no key, no heart to get up
Go out, feel the sun striking the retina
The fat mud extruding as glorious wormcasts
His ministry is one of just sitting it out
Till something changes
Which it always will-

And now he has commenced howling
To prove this very fact.

 

Veronica Aldous 2018 all rights reserved