09 May 2011


Sheave 5/9

The bread is a brick a loaf slicing itself
it is a wheel with a groove across its chest
it carries leather straps and makes the world
open and close

Lock it in the pocket of your jacket forget it
leave it and make peace with the forgetting

From the marshes of Louisiana will grow
a mud thick as lead and blocking the mud
is a swamp a quagmire deluge in itself
sticking cannily

The world is napalm a balm and burning
forest tracking sightlines a pathway forms
like wheat stalks it branches into labyrinths
it turns into the chaos of everyday

No comments:

Post a Comment