#2087 - a parable of words

 

2087

6.260

17.ix.25

a parable of words

for wise surprise

 

keep me awake

be my guest

 

pictures are drifting

in, out

see through my head

you don’t

 

words wake me

as if destined to

a line, a shape, patch of colour

 

there is a slick, a stain, of them

 

words are forming up into a list

follow me round

the faithful words

imprinted as from birth

 

who knows which next?

and last

 

words are fire

how far can we see into them?

 

wear us as the tree

the gut

all on our merry way

 

you know the old story of been before

trim whisker, toe

turn on tap till warm

 

each thing to its word – a multitude

sermon for sad eyes

 

all around the tongue

hard to choke down

always parts of something bigger

 

I weigh them down with a stone for the sea

yet fly like fish

 

there may be nothing to them

beat airily

 

how they stand out from time!

set the wheels just so

 

two tin cans a length of string

 

off with their clothes

and pander to

 

solicit the sausage

be brief

 

one is a strange little insect

one is a day of the week

 

left rote

there’s the matter of conviction  

 

the writing on the wall’s a sign

white flag, trench, more mud

 

and here’s my treaty with them then

 

let sleep be my surrender

 

yours sincerely

mine