Wasps dipped white in the knotweed cups and
drunk on it suspended glue slow Remember?
Severn was near to brim What were we then?
Still putting the scaffolding up En famille or
House full of KRSNA consciousness (whatever
that is) Her face astir a star painted on Gull
at the turkey bone Largeness with eyes for cuts
We're nearing everybody's disaster This year's
bramble flowers being bigger and blush infected
We're not pretending
There were nuns here once that got too old
Pins and needles around eye's throat Sweat
horror of metaphor goes and flutters Eczema
coat put on A boy before in park by pool of
fidgety light Light in a bundle now cornered
How the trees do grow getting sexual again
I have your plastic woven bracelet on
The past, so deep and strange.
ReplyDeleteI'm with those nuns, but would prefer to be with those trees.
Yes, the past keeps creeping up from behind and lamping me one the last few weeks.
ReplyDeleteNuns and great American poets are something of an endangered species now.
ReplyDelete"I have your plastic woven bracelet on"
miraculous piece of mundane simplicity