From, Slogans

 I, or track-dredged muted shiverer

blade of countless buzz-toned politick 

                        mowed by censure mowed by gaskets

has nailed the tongue on street's apostasy

            patient silent rain balms road

                         from high skylines hems of bees

               when police lines,

     loop to pool

               tonsils undo throats. 

 rainbows loop into the smashing puddles

where one bird dips our neck to sing, cop

sirens in long yelping island grasses

the violent inside four pallid walls,

sterilised or swarmed up bees and rattles

through the nettle kettles forming

dressing metallic undulated sheers

kick mouths wide open as the swing door's violet

sky, a consensus spills out slow into the slow

wet street. It was New Year and we

were locked in.

Comments

[Francesca Lisette]

I like this, it's good. It seems that the complacent drone of grass (conspicuous by its absence in an urban blade-edged environment) underlies the first stanza through 'buzz', 'mowed' & then reaches its apotheosis with 'hems of bees'. The line 'loop to pool' had me investigating for similar palindromic conurbations & found instead half-rhymes 'nettles/kettles', & a pattern of movement: dips, swing, kicks, spills, to be met by the refusal of 'locked'.

Is there a story behind it?