This poem was distributed in November 2020 in the fifth edition of the letter series, Raven Mail.
THE CORNED-BEEF KEY
The man that checks his weather app
& not whether his window’s wet –
I must confess, through gritted teeth
That I’ve become that man & yet
the child that stole the corned-beef key
& left the meat upon the shelf
& put it in his treasure-tin,
– he lives in me & in rude health,
He tap-dances in my half-drunk skull,
rattling his treasure-tin,
I twist to check if today’ll be cold,
he trampolines on my skeleton.
Go now, child: Write no commands
but songs. Deal in songs, not gold.
Breathe no wind but songs
& take your songs
& soothe the world’s unsouled.
Berlin, November 2020
A monthly whisper of encouragement, delivered to your door: sign up to Raven Mail now.