Friday, April 24, 2009
you smell of fresh air.
you are not here but in scotland
or in a car
going to the seaside laughing.
i see the stone walls, the curve of hill
and in yours eyes reflected
in the mirror
your turning away white teeth towards sheep.
it is misty. morning.
i am stood in the garden
where silence can mean more.
in the trees are your hair.
i lost the last line
but it began with
we don't know each other anymore
that it is all in code
numbers for letters.
hills higher than your thought.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
les petits lacs n'ont rien du mal
mais je préfère des grands comme l'océan
avec des petites îles
soutenant une conversation
la parole bouilonne
comme un sac de sable
le soleil tourné à l’envers
coupé en deux
par un catamaran
être vu de la montagne
la fumeé bleue
I have lost it
and miss it badly
I have missed it or lost it oddly.
the orchard will grow it self
& the apple trees of brown
and the rust of old things
will be found in the garden
by the lady’s well
when I am not there.
Sunday, April 19, 2009
Being the richest man on the island
he had to live in the deepest hole
away from all his money and his gold
so he found a stony place
high in the mountains and started digging
and with the aid of ladders
dug himself a tiny cell down
far deep into the rock
so light couldn't find him hidden away
and lived off condensation which
he licked from stone in the darkness
And because he was the richest man
the islanders built a vast temple
of gold with fragrant candles
around the hole that befits
the wealthiest man to protect him from the rain and elements
Then when he never showed his face and then when he had died and smelt of fish and then when they had spent all his money then
they said he will be our patron saint of madmen
and he will cure the sick
and we will parade him around the streets
And beat drums
and kiss his fragrant feet
every 8th of August.
Saturday, April 18, 2009
Thursday, April 9, 2009
when the moon come over the horizons
when waves laps the sands in perfect and oh so
almost italian, nearby ocean, sea
I will breathe
this is so much easier
I will care no more
it is easier on certain days. In the magazine I read the horoscope
Saturday, April 4, 2009
Friday, April 3, 2009
Thursday, April 2, 2009
cool and misty overnight
black now white/sometime/a helicopter overhead
as zebra flicker. shadow becoming light. Accept
cobble stone path edged with red brick
hosta. the garden. deep dew.
speak these words:
in the winter air/the roots of trees
the smell of the skin/like a little place
ripping up things/so little stars
the railway station
the girls red hair/the twigs in the wood.
I have nothing more to say.