#1154 - two poems - sticky weather & my self, a kind of wandering

 

1154

28.ii.23

4.59

sticky weather

 

hard to get your socks off

 

comes pulsing this

then the high storm sway

stills and tears and buckets after

 

rolling away the thunder

any dog takes fear

 

and I, a sleeplack

start up some birds

a laughter

 

in afterstorm

spiders out blind building

 

shape of a mist

this weather remains

 

treetops

bright and loud

 

my self, a kind of wandering

for ghostwriting

 

ever midst am

where possible, let

 

beginning and wraithlight

haunt

 

hill rollick

myself a meander

dale woe betide

 

and dance of forest finding

 

song of cloud downfalling

where little in the least

 

good and gone

all fitful

 

haunt them down

 

some worry on to a madness

some wary to a guess

 

suddenly see how all this was written

and the world spun right to left

 

never quite got over

big secret, this whole life

 

it’s somewhere the shutdown

like a roadside shrine

points heaven

and no one left for prayer