Symphony Number Nine by Paul Sutton

I say to my heart be coarse, be tougher
hear the music from car doors and lyrics on
pussy or willows or bitches. The boys from
the grooming gangs are here. I see a mother
battling a stream full-flow, harsh objects but
no daughters found in the wreckage. There are
shops they’d visit, then it’s all change and the
colours darken, a purity symphonic – ghost
folk songs, fugelhorns – but words are circular,
evenings violent. I can’t say it amazes me;
where was the family life leading,
its ‘pointless meaningfulness’ –
the love –
you can laugh, not realise as it happens.

2 thoughts on “Symphony Number Nine by Paul Sutton

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