we’re born
we wriggle a bit
we find out bits
and dream and dream
and settle for consumption
making all form of clatter and noise
as the cakes and coffees arrive
in the corner of the supermarket
in the industrial estate
and later
we’ll look like we’re settled
on open cleared ground
amongst the drifted plastic and cans
like a seagull that’s lost its way and nesting
to die
————w(O)rmholes________________________________|—–
coffee wormhole: sitting up in bed s i m u l t a n e o u s l y
death wormhole: Tulips by Sylvia Plath – How Far To Step Before You Raise The Other Foot
dream wormhole: consturnation …? // consternation
Have wormhole: I could step / more open
knowledge wormhole: constructalesson
life wormhole: Bat-Shadow
seagull wormhole: tune up // baton taptaptap
Deep bow…
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what a beautiful thing to say to an otherwise gloomy poem – a perfect rejoinder; thank you, Bonnie
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Always, more than welcome.
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Nah…the only things gloomy
are the words “industrial estate”
and “plastic.”
the rest is just
actualfactual
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natually
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