A mixture of crazy syllables. 1994.

A mixture of crazy syllables crowds around

A constant whirling tribe.

A fuelling wonder, stalking new prey.

I am frightened, somehow in a fruitless fashion.

Have I lost the skills of freedom,

mind rambling loose expression?

Is it slowly losing its butterfly breath and being strung , by one foot, upside -down.

maturing in a haze of flies?

I miss it so, the other side, that sighing in bright colour fades to sienna.

Dust finger through the mantelpiece.

Experience creating waste.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s