Each drop drumming the tin roof
I jar the window and light a cigarette
My left leg is bald beneath the knee
The drunk howls like a dog
Tethered to streetlight
My fingers are of burns and rag nails
He is singing songs of battle
One hand raised into the quiet rain
A bone wrapped in leather flag
I stub my cigarette in a clump of moss
And listen to it fizzle and die I leave the window open
Wondering causes of baldness
His voice breaks with fire
I hear a bottle smash
The sound of sirens and laughter
I pull the curtain as the geese pass
And sleep dreams of fishermen climbing
I have moved the bed
and now make myself in its corner,
counting false summits of blue quilt.
I see myself climbing peaks, edging along thin
pathways with rope railings, stopping to rest
on wind-bitten walls wary of bulls.
In this smoky room I’ve walked the dog
Balmuchy to Ypres, placed fields on a shelf
and watched horses dance in mirage.
I’ve barely touched ground in orange cities, penetrating
lime back alleys and barbed tongues. I’ve wrapped thoughts
in bundles—I keep them in a store room with the negatives.
Somewhere under boxes of old Augusts and oranges
are the landscapes and people from them.
Tonight with this quilt I am walking there again.
Until the bed is made, hills spread
to blue moorland.
I have nothing to do cigarette
Burns again The window broken
For its lack of originality
Place the night on the chopping board
Open it up bleed it Drain ‘til it turns white
Go beautiful falling into patterns
Spat my heart against a wall
Slid down and dried out like a fish
The scales were really glistening
Turn off the light Tilt his head in case of vomit
Get off your high horse and go to bed
The moon is swinging like a scythe
Bio: David Ross Linklater is a poet from the Highlands of Scotland, now living in Glasgow. He is currently studying a Masters in Creative Writing at the University of Glasgow and is working on a collection of poems. His writing has appeared inGlasgow Review of Books, The Grind, The High Flight, Ink, Sweat & Tears and RAUM, amongst others. He digs watermelon.
Write something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview.