Grounds for Applause

Two hands open and close
in undecided prayer.
Two palms
reciting short, sharp psalms
into empty air.
Two arms, at decreasing intervals, together and part

but never quite reach
zero.
There is always an On then an Off.

Two lips push desperate praises onto open ears,
fling desperate phrases
at half-cut saviours
and tremble at the slightest thing.

Ten fingers stretch skywards
grasping at silver linings,
shaking the shit out of satellites
demanding a pinch of god.

Two mouths touch each other
and make silence: tongues swim and they swim and they swim







June 2009.