We’re going to be soaked in seed Divorced of low crawling weed We’re going to be clematis climbers Entwining all we lambast—fast We’re going to be flower chamfers
Leaping down off a 216 bus In the city centres morning Rush-hour—one gold grey wet day. I saw—a lone pigeon, moving… In a tarmacs Titanic icebergs sway. I heard his sinking engines say?
Windup my sail Like falling, leaves. Windup these pirate tales What no one else believes? Oh, quarter master— Mistress of the high seas Beat your drum Let these oars men
Over head I watched, from the crane A bony old feral foundry cat fleabane! Swaying like a shipman, in the rigging. He too was all at sea, he even glancing...
