Volley'd and Thunder'd

[addy]

“Never trust a poet.” That’s what Daddy said to me,
when I was knock-kneed in the factory
and knocked up on the floor
while the whiff of something more
drowned in Brut and milky tea. How undignified . Great start.

Lord Tennyson was late again
and half a league behind me
so he missed the mouth of hell
I described so bloody well
after waiting in the mill for him to find me

And the body odour hugged me, brotherly
with a slightly leering passage to the right
where the rotten gods had laced their boots up tight
and sabres bared, they left
to assault the barren cleft That is quite an expert euphemism. Well done
while the mothers waved their banners in the lee

Trust a poet’s patterns like this callback while he traces them in air
for wayward thumbs to print in stammered ink very fond of this line. "Stammered" is perfect
and bloodied girls to think
there’s an exit from the pink
to erase the flash of muddy underwear

But disillusion issues cold
from waters barely flowing
where currents travel there and back
but in between their charge is slack
and lives drift by, delightfully unknowing This part might be a little vague? It gets the point across nicely... but i don't know if the slightly veiled quality it was intentional.

Form-wise its impeccable, and frankly my contentions are only tiny, tiny, nitpicks . Great narrative voice too... the belle who mustn't trust a poet and really, knows the score more than she lets on . I enjoyed this a lot.