Something took form
(Alison Murray)

Posted on November 20, 2010 by in Heightened Talk


in Narbonne


I listened to a cat scratch of claws


on a tiled roof,


a storm, the cathedral bells.




The death of Rimbaud


went unnoticed


by the good people of Marseille


at the Hôpital de la Conception


the taxi driver grudgingly


took my black-eyed cheque home.




Two dozen oysters opened


into breathless mouths


at the type of wedding breakfast


so unfashionable, nowadays.




No-one put their hands to my face


No-one placed a lit cigarette in their mouth




and went back to their book.