Strange Songs
︎︎︎ Tim Frank
︎ July 21, 2025
Sport is doing time
Listening to the wind
Kicking in the womb,
A gentle genetic calling.
Space is the constant day,
The constant night
Filling up our lungs
With a strange magician’s odour
And a suitcase full of whale song.
Art climbs moonlit rainbows,
Digs holes around the forest,
And the gradual loss
Of shredded flesh
Leaves gangs of kids
Trapped inside a playground.
Listening to the wind
Kicking in the womb,
A gentle genetic calling.
Space is the constant day,
The constant night
Filling up our lungs
With a strange magician’s odour
And a suitcase full of whale song.
Art climbs moonlit rainbows,
Digs holes around the forest,
And the gradual loss
Of shredded flesh
Leaves gangs of kids
Trapped inside a playground.
Tim Frank is a poet in London, England.