#1080 - on my birthday

 

17.xii.22

1080

3.350

on my birthday

 

tossed and turned to here

 

they are recalling the baby spinach

(could cause hallucinations)

 

the sun, as predicted, shines through the window webs

 

Ukraine intercepts seven out of eight Russian missiles

there’s no power in Lviv

this is what I wake up to

 

I won’t go to Melbourne

even I have limits

 

my problem is brown

what was I thinking?

it’s hard to control the spray

white is trouble too

I engrave a web over

the village in that

 

still need me, feed me

not really a question as far as I’m concerned

 

it’s yoga now

 

they are praying for the Thai king’s daughter

 

the pen and the brush

can scrape

and keys

the two day wasp itch still

 

one is tempted to biscuit it

but there may be a bed to make

sore distraction

life, a kind of code

death cracks on

 

soon the instruments will be brought

I chase the chords around such strings

‘the bush comes back’

‘playing a tune to the view’

 

and falling down around my ears

that’s what we’ve built for

 

putty the world with this dust

ashamed of whom we’ve eaten too

it’s from such shames we grow

 

I reconvene with my father

with yesterday’s unfinished poets

with Spinoza and William James

I think you can see where I’m up to

with sainted Boethius

 

later I’ll translate myself a bit

and who knows what become

 

come friends though first

please take your books

and pack them in the boot

or boots

 

baby spinach may have therapeutic applications

and need to be decriminalized

I’ll vote for almost anything

 

it’s almost Christmas

I put the rusty little angels out

we’ll have to find candles for them

 

and Thredbo I think snow still

from all afar the greetings come

 

somewhere I must swim

and sink siesta in

 

I must go on inspiring

and other duties too

 

a little jig

a leaf twirl falling

light breeze

and in the afterfalls –

my own work now

I choose to

glisten and gleam