9 november

Who do you think you are? What car parked in that brain and drained the range of erroneous chrome, too shiny to remind me to look in the mirror—no clearer for the reflection… Have you no collection to draw from? No plate to create a crust from, the trust from the earth’s surface and the porous glorious imagination—what frustration drives you to pick apart the angles you see and to try the relief of all the others around you… the complaint department, the reasons and the why, the fry and the egg, the answers and the legs that cannot run—we stretch and we are strung out to dry/ cry and weep with the sweeping brooms, crooning as the cock crows one: leave the others to get things done or the bough will break and the cradle will fall—now and the cannons and the rest will call… let us announce our chickens as they hatch for the scrambles as they fly and the baskets as they latch—these are magicians and mistakes we can catch! Let us tell our stories to the trees and the rivers – let us know our answers as the moon comes up, as the milk goes to sleep, as the lakes fall empty and the sun sings its prayers to the wide open sky.