A Hand

                   I.

A hand,
           gone

(I loom forward
           to the flank

the watermark-
           welted sheet

(sand cast
           the shredded hour

stroked the spine keys
           to the cleft

 

                   II.

Tautened membrane
           at the hairline

shift it will
          shift it must

the light sifts
          appalling

what remains
          the labour

(the act split
          from the work

unhooking
           the clasp

(the scalp
           torqued

 

                   III.

brittle bloody silk
          over the shear wound:

a gap in my wall
          where the stone fell away

falling
          still falling

and calling
          a ghost to the gap

ghost
          of a pleasure

the pleasure of
          a ghost

at my table


                   IV.

the bruise plaque
          spreads

by dint of boot
          again, again
on the same stain

downcut
          the pad

the stone-eddy
          corrades

lay your scooped head
          to the indented sill

grit in the ear
                   the bit
                             bit down


David Lloyd, born in Dublin 1955, now lives in Los Angeles, teaching at the University of Southern California.  Writer and critic, he has published three books of poetry: Taropatch (Oakland: Jimmy’s House of Knowledge, 1985), Coupures (Dublin: hardPressed Poetry, 1987), and Change of State (Berkeley: Cusp Books, 1993).