Saturday, 18 January 2014

Bus note 86

He makes another window
in the misted over window.
        Objects show
        their particular get up there.
Thinking about 
sacred stroke profane until
        Hairline itch
        at eye's rim
        full stops
and then on we go.


  1. That familiar and definitive bus rhythm, stop go stop go, does, as captured here (and not for the first time in the series, in fact it comes to seem almost a sort of unifying time signature after a while), have a particular prosodic identity, now one thinks of it.

    (Indeed and coincidentally this rhythm was the subject of an extended eleven-stop stop-and-go-and-stop meditation, just this evening, earlier, and certainly much less artful, here.)

    In short, stop, go, stop, go, good one, Dunc.

  2. Cheers, Tom.

    If you spend as much time as we do on the buses it must be in the blood.

    There's something comforting in it (though this might depend on the service in question).