Tuesday, 11 October 2016
SHREW'S FIDDLE BEING USED
One minute, this all night & unable
to feel a thing, how your head flung about
slips into the field; I see a bundle of leaves
that you cannot go.
Scattered far out over the country
through the sky’s field
are other parts of you
down here; down here your own danger
carried out at night, parting, resolving
You appear there
Your elf voice
private confessional for chastity:
The outside world enrols the inside.
I can see a butterfly;
the history of containment
is outside power, the majorative. Where neither of us
are, but the thing plaits, abstracting our places,
for this moment local. The hotel taken in red ivy
a monstrously fucking unfair pejorative “we”, I am
someone just walked over my grave.
Perhaps it was a Yeti.
For a while at least, it is a little open ended. Noticed
a lack or a kneeling stockade. Barely knowable
person there fallen
under the sky’s random release mechanism
someone knows. That someone elsewhere.
A puppy cage wrought &
good. Especially sad
are the emptied bars of
mouth slumps some
times its stitched blank
openness is the exact permission needed to fault it
betrays the whole world.
A real cage
Far better than that.