Sport 20: Autumn 1998
Nick Williamson
Nick Williamson
Entering the Pyramid
At the beach I find small
memories to draw on
It can take months to
comb a piece so words
fall in place without
knots or kinks or little
flakes of skin
At eighteen I brushed
your hair in an untidy
room. It fell easily
bleached ivory
by the hard sun
Electricity caused
strands to float shining
fragrant towards my face
We sat in a pyramid
of light beside French doors
open to a garden of palms
passion fruit, paw-paw
your face turned
to the sound of waves
Untitled
Brewing coffee this evening
I came across a poem
on its back beside
the kitchen window
It was kicking its legs
like a stunned insect
I picked it up
gently by the wings
laid it out on paper
drinking in its fine markings
Straight off I could tell
it had no sting
that it wouldn't make it
through the night
Dreaming of a Dead Man
Not so long ago in a drooping
house we smoke dope together
You're in your yellow tie-dyed
singlet, so thin from too much
heroin but still my hero and me
green as the leaves laughing
at light falling through a window
We puff up our pigeon-chests
fool with words, your electric
laugh more shocking by the second