11 Jan 2011

New ears

Shoulders forward
in the dogrun
thrusts the head
of a man

the sun's scanline
the bark strips
the bag of stones
I am becoming

& sleep softly descends
a digestive humour
lubricating
the gizzards.

*

Coal-black hair
framing
an olive-hued face

dropping level with the withers
a thousand hoof-spans high
when she dives
crags strive through the water

so Scylla

clawed & writhed

*

Lost in that immortal struggle
found Genesis smuggled
in an egg-cup
but uncongealed
(no hips to measure her by)
elliptical
swinging around. unfocused.

*

Laid end-to-end, covering new ground daily
from what end to what end
flag
stones