Morning without Meaning

Steve Sneyd

Approaching Southampton, road
has hill to left dawn-
lit. I tell truck driver rocks
say words. He looks then
says I must get out, he must
turn off this road now.
The words the stones spell are meant only for me.

The Day of the Afternoon

Steve Sneyd

Christmas Eve fog fills
dyestuffs shed third Azo B -
forced to work over
our gang opens steam valves so
foreman can't find us -
others hide, I stand still, can't
move for watching what tops the mist bright as paint, a
Christmas crib world size

All Passes Unharmed

Steve Sneyd

Road straight to horizon is
maybe Roman is
Penny Lane. Far far off is
speck approaching of
harvester. My head buzzes how
sure I am comes to
kill me. Domes of men with Hill,
warning, watching, swell
egg eyes to fill whole hill lane