5.8.20
185
after the bonfire of
the poetries
have a bit of a head
this morning
like I wasn’t poured right
seared image in
and that’s the colour
radio would catch
but won’t capitulate
a breeze tells smoke
that’s what it was, comes
round to me
we had to keep moving
our little sun
revolved about
and we were the instruments
as seen on bush TV
a pit with it – jam
flame up to – sparkle
the arrows point me every way
else for stars
a little store
stumble it round
the still smoke
find Sunday in yourself
fresh air – a swim in
yesterday this time was
wishing a stillness
from first lit rain
a head to shoulder top
a pill for it, will we?
garden under the sea
in perhaps pond
where the dream
comes to light
and goes on
how many salutes to be free?
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