#288 - in the busy book

7.x.20

288

in the busy book

 

a doodle at the day

find me

(not proving a thing)

but hard at the oars

and a little sky polish

spit and

I worm a way as well    or ferret 

thick with the secret readers

who’ll never show themselves

 

of course there are stray calculations

and much of a to-do

 

choosing titles

a fabric

dragging out an old truth

or just the image flog

 

I take the storm for telling

and sleep it off in here

 

in the busy book

one is becoming a force of nature

where else can it be done?

 

still have to cover all the angles

scratch roof

and through the walls

 

throw me to the questions

 

cross writing

read between

see the deeps in   

 

and fill the whole room

with heart with hope

 

the garden

and old book

known by whiff

go blind

come never twice the same

take seasons to it home for a keepsake

(where such things are not attempted)

 

seldom break a sweat

sometimes come as far as I can go

 

of course where no one’s ever been

but aint it all familiar?

 

busy me with I’ll say devilry

hands over

and coasting out of fuel

a wicked waste of conversation

 

there’s nothing to prove in here

 

one day I’ll be discovered

long gone, not missed

 

they’ll think ‘thank gods its over

he was never going to shut up …

now we can get on’

 

in the busy book

they are singing a moon

for a first time up

come down in the last shower

 

it’s tin and thunder for a home there

though must you call it humpy?

 

one dots up at a later date

to show explorers’ routes

 

are breezes but you’ll find no broom

do all come under erasure?

 

no, I choose immortality

and number it in days

overwhelm the world

as far as the forward estimates

 

one goes quotational at times

much quippery

thrash theory out before it takes

deictic!

all the here with and before

 

things, weather and trick them along

 

a godlessness to raw invent

 

bliss myself

often with ponder

 

along this path come and tell me

have you been as well?

 

I know you are my creature

though cannot draw but wonder till

we are complete

and bare the soul to none such

 

fools rush in to blather

 

there are several anathemae

 

and all of this before

we even

come for the colouring in