James Walton #14 Abracadabra


The arcane art of invisibility is a slow burner,
where tomorrow is yesterday and now is the better edge
of a truth too sharp for that angle of alchemy.
Not brought on by a snap of fingers
or pulled aside to reveal by a reverent assistant,
but a recessive cord unwinding in the present.
All the while diminishing
As you pass Hendrix, Christ, Lawrence and Woolf,
the signposts missed in acrid whiff
of obituaries burned for winter heat.
The smouldering wilt doesn’t give a clue
that the stage lights are growing dimmer
as all the silence that has ever been
wraps itself around your pre paid envelope.

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