.
.
Moons, dictating harvest and planting,
Food, delivered in wax paper packing as jewels:
when needed and not a day sooner but fools
would not notice fortune is lunar and when
we pause and our thoughts sort of scatter a pen
reminds us of what they were after —
.
Finding white horses and jolly old men
isn’t as easy as it was back then,
Forwarding backwards and sending again,
Where will you be, where will we be when this story ends?
.
Words, mounted on listening walls,
Thirst, resounding in glistening halls with a punch:
a founder of nice little things does lunch
with a partner whose cryptic meanings afloat
in the swamp that holds paupers and fanatics alas!
The demons lie deep down within it —
.
Finding white mountains and kindly old men
isn’t as easy as it was back then,
Give me a gift and then take it again,
Where will you be, where will we be when his–story ends?
.
Lemmings, bleeding in ten-storey buildings
Weddings, attacked by the black kettle-wielding and force:
look at what providence bought: a source
for the fodder of new-coloured thought, with which
a deceased brand of nudity cooled and yes,
from this treetop all dimwits were fooled —
.
Finding white cat’s paws and youthful old men
isn’t as easy as it was back then,
The ocean’s an end for beginning again,
Where will you be, where will we be when his–story ends?
.
Picketed, and wicked
Think of a Great Plastic Thicket
A word to the wise, trust only the flies on the wall…..
.
Ticketed, and sickened,
Craving a gravy that’s thickened
The truth never lies, trust only the spies on the wall…..
.
Finding white horses and jolly old men
isn’t as easy as it was back then,
Forwarding backwards and sending again,
Look where you are….. have you come farther than where you began?
.
.
.
.
Copyright L.M. 2005. (Written October 24th, 2005.).
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