for Leicester Kyle
1
a plank bed in a gully
and a woman there with
a buckled mouth my hand
plunged deep in her pigfern
turpentine and tea-tree
the sour-smoke smell
of damp coal in the scuttle
and flat beer on the bench
once I stood so tall on
a stolen Triumph
my hair streamed behind
like a thousand freedoms
now I stand two miles
above flatlanders
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