to wit, to want, to will...
Through sleeves of white ricepaper,
to yet-mouths of old amber:
slowglossing ... slideways. A Way.
You must away! Crossing the
Great Divide. Other Side: Lagoons.
While the night still is...
it's a birdflickering, cool-misted
cross-legged ... Darkthing.
Smooth-faced, shiny-haired head;
soft-stretching Bag of arms;
pale yellow fingerthumbs ...
Deepdiggers of oiled Teak.
Cast in clay, counted on
street corners, caught in
candy stores, curt and coping.
Hair all in place and
combed neatly back,
hardly a trace of
cunning or knack.
Lied to, denied and wiled,
worn down and shorn,
wasted and wanted not.
Where do you live,
where do you stay,
and what would you give
to know what I say.
Timid, tense, tottering,
taking hold ... timeless
in the quiet moments.
Hold out your hand and
catch you some sleep,
buried in sand so
wet and so deep ...
Like thread on a bobbin,
pulled through a needle,
stabbing fabric. This
Perpetual Motion Machine
keeps on punching
out the perforations.
Unraveling tether,
always moving on,
yet staying in every
place it passes through.
Am I the Walrus?
We all are. And yet...
Each one of us is also
the Centre, until the Centre
can no longer hold.
The Cherry is real.
The pit which it surrounds
is mortal myth!