Recipe for a New Poem
250g natural imagery
250g inner turmoil
50cl dry London gin
Take one kernel of lucidity, born in the night.
Crush lightly, using your own backbone for a pestle.
Toast together with your thoughts on love
until they blacken and begin to smell like
your grandmother’s laundry room.
Add half a pint of longing and leave to simmer –
the longing should permeate the mixture
until it separates, forming a fine film
of heartache on the surface.
Remove from the heat and allow to cool.
While waiting, drink the gin.
Telephone a few old friends, remind them of the good times.
Make sure to always taste your poem;
if you can’t stomach it, neither will they.
Once the poem has set, transfer to an oil drum
infused with your country’s past.
Take the drum somewhere scenic;
rest it on a shingle shore
and allow it to draw in the ocean’s breath.
Return home, turn your poem upside-down
and slice it lengthways.
Listen closely for the hiss of misperception.
Serve cold, with lashings of pretext
and slip silently from the kitchen via a side door.