Saturday 10 September 2011

MUST

must relax more.  MUST . . .

must look more at the leaves on the hill
and how the soft brown ground is falling away from the road
and
must breath
in the air
in the sweet forest lane.

lucky to have this quiet English commute.

couples in leisure wear
their
dogs running for punctured footballs and spinning sticks.
the sun in the sky
and
everyones
breath
still
hanging
in
clouds.

the sideburned diddyman shouting at his dog in the road.
the man walking the miles into town
big bag on his shoulder
leans
him
to the left.

must smell winters grey baritone.
must see easters burnt blue horizon
thats coming
in
on
the
weekends.

must pick my pieces up and hold them aloft gently
and write the art of a stolen night
in
my
time.  till like Li Po;
only
the
hill remains.

MUST . . . 

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