travelling – no theme
when the wind blows
leaves turn and follow like
dislocated jazz-hands
everything is parting
and passing all around
… me (is that the theme?)
I can’t find what to
think or notice; in the
corner of my eye a
small black creature
keeps pace, stretched in
leap over field, through
hedge, unspite, imhindered,
depossibly, gathering
everything in disregard;
bit between molars (for
weeks, for days?) wedging
teeth slightly awkward
has just worked loose;
there are skies, there,
certainly, high, silky
and whipped, and then
blue-coagulated drifting
like a fleet, like calves
crossing fields ears
waving, as wind blades
heave beyond hill horizon
I conjeal myself
in notice, relieved with a
thread and co-ordinate
where for to breathe
again but having lost
so much more that I
never had; Carol shuts
the Kindle and leans; I
smell her warm head
for miles – arrival
————w(O)rmholes________________________________|—–
attention wormhole: before any writing
black & blue wormhole: the silent night of the Batman
breathing & groundlessness wormhole: is this it // all the time
Carol & clouds & sky wormhole: Christmas 2015
hedge wormhole: free
horizon & white wormhole: looking ahead
identity wormhole: without any buffet at all
leaves wormhole: Batgirl –
letting go wormhole: “I need help”
passing wormhole: I am not yet ready
smell wormhole: St. Edmund’s / Parish Church / Castleton
time wormhole: looking / ridiculous
travelling wormhole: Tara mantras
wind wormhole: after all
