#572 - automatic writing

 

27.vii.21

572

2.207

automatic writing

 

here come the Corybantes

tripod sat, laurel crowned

 

a lion lost in the night

bird to chimney gone

 

here we go

from mountains ecstatic

come cadences

 

here’s shepherd from the Seventh Eclogue

a staff so twined

 

in New York, at the bottom of the dream

and it is quite a hill

(uncannily like the Warringah Freeway)

careering down

 

we are characters out of the movie

and there’s the Brooklyn Bridge, just glimpsed

as we go over another

 

this city a lot like Circular Quay

      and it takes in everything –

names, places, lives

 

one of those naked cities

where the night is lit with the day before

 

this is the first time – the three of us

foot of the stairs leading up to a tower

a roof, tasked to work out

film noir lit, at a certain hour

(or, moment, more precisely)

something will have happened

can’t yet know what

and that’s all we have

(in the dream you can feel this is enough plot)

 

if I knew how it was that I could be here

then maybe I wouldn’t be

 

here to make the difference

that’s what’s important now