Two Poems

Andrew Spragg

autumn lunch


when there is rare blue air and salt fish

to chomp

sting the little round self

with poor impressions and

flat assaults

it becomes dull


to treasure these moments

see the park

lights and all those people running

into the reception

and asking what

business is it of mine to


be running in reception

the dust of little else

blows even that a way

commented on time

like a thick wadge of

felt in your face


foam and fibrous

nephew who not too bright

circulated the hill on which

he observed the observatory

a bomb went off and he stopped

complaining the people having spoken



New piece from business inquirer


That was the brokering of love’s work

or love of brokerage. Kind words – save faith

for the chassis – the yellow grasses.

Our inclination was that of the spirit world.

The lushness of a cued ghoul commencing

a muffled and plump ascent.


Safe business and many

too know your terrible secret

beat. Oh rarity upon deferred

rarity. Music to music – change sense.

Oh sweet and snogging

men many of whom


had the recipe.

Sense ceremony.

In the end. Eligible

requirements and some

an easy way to shame

what is proven. Then in


motion. Despise it all

you like. All

our illuminations or all

our inert workings.

Are you a-gog at

our own big brain

Two Poems