September 2010
2 posts
Fragments of a dream just woken from
I dreamt of myself as a child in London, though younger than I was when really I did frequent that lovely garden, and lovelier it was by far in my slumber, though I had inexplicably altered. The child I was played by a pond carved into the patio. In truth my mother had dug squares out and inserted an old sink as a pond, sort of a bohemian experiment that failed and became stagnant. In the dream...
let's not worry about titles.. something i writ
When everything has stuck in place
And built on top of that which has settled,
And the structure you see full of eyelets and cracked bare beams,
Makes your skin crawl.
When you crawl bodily away to a patch of space and feel important again,
How can you look back to the call of the rubble?
It calls you by a name you’ve had etched into flesh,
And like that you assimilate again with the...