Those set texts

Those set texts

What were the books that broke us?
That street walk where we watched the rain hit the floor and thought of Carter wrapping women in circus silks.
Those pavement bricks that look like family units breaking, that sofa in the street inviting Homecoming Lennys.
Bring us home Brontes, send us signals in naming,
landscapes like brain clots.
Siegfried we are still singing your train terrors
in shower cubicles, Littlewood, you left schitzophrenic sheep to shop.
With that great caretaker Heaney we dig our meals and feel new sorts of guilt which through the springs of our technology
we love to hate spy our friends crippled weakness.
Oh Emily, you were cryptic beyond graves,
sing unedited mending.