moving house

Cosmetically enhanced born anew,

The white casket from which a home grew,

Is opened and leases the birds from their cage.

As brushes erase the census gaps left by

The purge of cupboards, drawers and shelves,

In await of the incumbents approval.

By night, exiled to the attic,

Life folds to a foetal coil across a

Stripped double bed, two matt white tresses

And it stirs in a cavernous, emulsion, womb.

And carrying a bag through the rooms dust foliage

Scatters a legacy of doors, ajar.

Gulliver awakes hung-over, on a mattress sandwich

A prince locating a pea.

Sneezing violently as he recalibrates.

Anchored by lethargy, he

Tracks the sun’s cantilevering behind those chimneys,

In rapture with the light an, inauguration of the new

Illumination of brass tendons and

Crumbling plaster, cast aloft on a Georgian child’s

Jenga structure. Wolf (big and bad) approaching.