Slay me down

There is a name of one

who is my kryptonite

upon utterance all my defences

fall down I cower and return

to my world of torment

The name is secret to all but few

Forever in fear that the name be known

that all will utter it seemingly innocently

and take me down

revengeful, resentful, trust in few

Is it you?



Like swimming
In a stagnant pond
But can’t put it
Your face serene
Tender note
Telephoned her
To imagine
Climbing onto her roof
I smelt your hair
On the east wind
Guesses are in store
With innumerable tins
Or else all likely places
Electric fire ends
Whimsical fondness
We should meet again
Dark & grubby
See hear if you wish
Stop. Love. R

Erasure poem from ‘Dying with Henry’ p.135 from ‘Romancing: The Life and Work of Henry Green,’ by Jeremy Treglown


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