Doodle doo. And the light
drops thinly from the sun
on those up
and those not up –
such as me. And through the
half-open blinds I see
wisps of smoke wriggle
and flutter through the air,
then a magpie land on a wire,
and beyond this, a plane’s
long, white, frizzy tail.
Oh year, are these your
final offerings – scraps
of aerial visuals? After all
the horses falling
at the final fence,
of course. After all the mud.
A crow hops from chimney pot
to chimney pot. A cloud
drifts above him.
Is that
a face at the skylight
in the grey slates? Whose?
Where is my sister?
The wire vibrates in the wind,
the sky spells rain,
the distant thunder of a plane
pulls me up. Ah, doodle doo.
Doodle doo.
antonio blunda su Orffyreus e il segreto del mot… | |
Nicola su Orffyreus e il segreto del mot… | |
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