the unknowable transforming point 271/ 275

433 little poems
fictive autobiographical gazing
through the piano looking glass

These months

What happened to the garden
all these months
when he left
snowy winter that’s for sure
did you say anything
why the silence
johnny cash
why the dunque


all right on the night
playing the vagina monologues
book in my hand
packed audience and word singing
where did all these strangers appear from
up the palatial stairs to the concert room grand windows

Past the underground

Talk about it
repeats without dal segno
and clattering past the underground
where are you now
feeling my way along the invisible path
best not to see the wild things
and keep the wolf at bay
augmented 4ths and brubeck were the days
unlikely to be such a prerequisite
it was a rebelliousness post stinking wars
our fathers ficfuc
and uncles and shell shock hyperactive
played the planet suite full on while we longed for serenity

And still we sang

It was all upside down cake
and little grandmother soft snoozing by the range
in flowery pin apron and rosy cheeks
she of the working hands
the piano was well out of tune
and still we sang
still and loud voices
no cats to disagree with the ears turned back
surviving on what
the train crashingly fiercely thundering past
at the bottom of the garden
rush of steam and smell of the mint and lavender

The next chip chapter

Why was the earth so bare and flat
like danced upon and packed hard
out on the rocks and flocks on the brae
scouting for specimens
dressed for nowhere
leadhills cold heath and nonsense
no special interest to anyone of that time
just the energy behind the fought campfire
forget it
turn turn turn
and get ready for the next chip chapter
of all the insomniac things to do



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