Bob Orr

We tack a grey photo
of Rimbaud onto a pink
hard board wall
his mouth a steel
trap shut tight
on the metred feet
of words. We put up

a map. The last place
we were
Great barrier Island.

The ranges wrinkle down
to the sea. Blue

squared with lines
of longitude &
latitude. Love might
be invented anew
but this isn’t Abyss
inia. I don’t care
where we are. We put

the two narrow beds
                       together.

© Bob Orr

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Last updated 11 May 2001