Yarn
July 24, 2010 § Leave a comment
Grandfather of the hedgerows humble
shouldered
sensing
a fat lady singing when the cows come
home again: collection
of mortality
the yard winging yet down
upon strangers
a valley or three in the thighs of the land
soil-stepping
sweet fingertips
he tastes a heel of honeysuckle, as she hoovers the hall
inside-out yearning
heartless famine of floored
wonder
‘do you berate me, madwoman’
a lake abreast replies
‘I am the way; I am the truth
and yet I lie darkly by a thrush corruption’
fathom for five
or
the favoured side?
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