The Works of P G Heron

Every so often I get an email from a man calling himself P G Heron. This mysterious character sends me poetry which is clearly the product of a dilated anterior fundus, no doubt brought on by excessive consumption of eggnog. If you wish to read on do be aware that by doing so you risk your eyes turning into soil.

Tuesday, 18 September 2012

Horse

Horse
Not interested
In Rembrandt's oils
Staggers past the masterpiece
Grinning at worms
And pulling its lips over its eyes.

Dark peak
Candles light up
Little regions of memory
In the distant black cavity
Of wilderness

Horse on the prow of the hill
Rembrandt under one arm
Covered in smiles and winks
Nice one Cyril.
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