THE STUDENTS ART EXHIBITION
The youngsters are creating,
playing with jags of lightning,
tugging with love cross-dressed
teddy-bears, gazing over
cracked sea-lines, ripping photos of
themselves, smashing bones
with bone hammers,
de-composing clothes with gaps
bandaged breasts matching the moon.
Do they need all that mirrored sun
to make their hair erect?
They step among skyscrapers
and giant telephone boxes
on to a smooth, white, gelid void
[stern lions so blue knowing they are to die].
Is this white fluid I spy
nestling in the lower lid of an eye?
Mother and calf meet.
The calf is thin bones
This is the world then that they inherit:
crushed lavender sprays in two clamped fists.
What have they been taking?
A painted envelope
they stuff with polished images of us,
posting it with pitiless nails to the wall.
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