littler than you are
(or will ever be
or were)
small so
thin and there
shinyblack and hid beneath
(pinching skin of space/
tiny baby pincers)
the dirty leaf
trod mud is showing
also rustred flecks
and fungal thumbprints too
with a smoke stink all about and
great pink comic smear
on ageing dayold sky
an almost
arse-end-of-the-city place
near half a river's course
I feel a bit dirty myself for having broken with my schedules.
ReplyDeleteO for a life of sensation rather than of thought, quoth J Keats.
ReplyDeleteIn which sense this is quite sensational:
trod mud is showing
also rustred flecks
and fungal thumbprints too
with a smoke stink all about and
great pink comic smear
Autumn here has brought down a rain of redwood litter to be laboriously cleared from the drainspouts, which face the challenge of the season's first major North Pacific storm, due in from Alaska sometime tomorrow eve.
(Breaking with schedule, I should wish to propose, is a sign of freedom, no dirty thing that. And are not the small critters in the mud in love with their freedom to be soiled?)
I'm not sure whether people know anything about either thought or sensation these days.
ReplyDeleteAs for schedules, this is very true, and this love of the critters is a lovable thing (needless to say, a Bus Note will still be appearing at 6 pm).