Ashley Bovan

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Procession
 
Well water and wild blackberries,
a smile like the side of a broad bean.
 
From Lammas to November,
this quarter, from Solstice to Autumn,
curved and rippled discontinuity,
stumbling flux. The Laws
of Physics need not apply.
 
We danced in A minor, 129 bpm
head get you out
.jam.packed.tight.cramped.
grutching, subterranean.
 
Tonight, drenched atoms hustle,
spin, create colour. 2 tracks
from the same album.
 
Cherry acoustic songs stray through darkness,
through dunes and drift, wood and surf.
A morning song, a melody,
a hawk hawk from gangs of gulls.
Now there’s sand in the bed.

 

 

 

No Sun, No Magic
 
This present unembroidered nature,
is locked to forever, all destiny
collected,
a constant keynote.
 
Then something tears
when I touch your lips;
my voice rips mid-breath.
 
They say it’s all in my head
but, in truth, you are complicit.
By definition: a quality of action
distinguished by contrast,
whether I observe you or not.
 
Clouds force me to forget
I am not fully reborn.
Nags undermine me;
they suggest a failure of integration.