On Running Naked on a Golf Course – York, 2015 – a poem by Sam Hickford

On Running Naked on a Golf Course – York, 2015

Well, after the predicted liberation, it is oddly mundane,
in fact. As if this is a tired old sport
like pétanque, played by confirmist Druid kids
intoxicated with their mainstream divinity

classes – I think of mysticism: being winged in flight
like a golf-ball, from a blackbird’s quivered beak
is a later extrapolation. It is the hard grind
beyond metaphor that counts, not this laboured hole-in-oneness.

.

Sam Hickford spent a lot of time in a silent monastery, and so now talks compulsively to make up for lost time.

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