Monday, August 06, 2007

From "Lines out of Space"


despatches from sad farm

the blowsy spectacle of a moon
snagged in a branch of the oak
attracted few spectators
idlers and chancers
rubberneckers at the frazzled edge
of lyricism’s limit
they would go away and
not write sagas which
no one would bother to read

shuffling rippled through the sense of a glen
re-hashed memories of life
lived on the sad farm
livestock insulted by their lot
I must surmise
a real relationship with the certain world
called nature has been denied me
time after day after time after day

later we found secretions from the disaster
such as it was which was not much
speckled were our coats
some scarves seemed dipped in silver
dust one glove had stiffened
feathers poking through the gates of wool

you said this crop was raised up
many moons before
so now it is right just even
to knock it back
rake up what was shed
and then preserve it in
the very gaze which had harmed us
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