Ulysses over the handle bars

Magpieing the colour blue
a seam of sky, in the pocket
of my too worn jeans, where yellow
crabbing days wore through, coins
and threads lost like summer
(I guess) a horse of cloud and air
leapt in a lunge, the trident shape
Poseidon’s scowl in wavelets cast  
against the sleepful gabions
ah, futility, Ulysses thought
the stained glass, of a martyr’s eye
cyclopean in the way it fixed
a furied vein, the bolt-tight
gun-metal jaw, ricochet and
gutter blunt, a crown above the minotaur
with blasphemies and buckled
wheel, half turning seesaw back
in the blind, almost crow-black
breakneck intercession

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