how your eye excites me, lingered
dancing as your laughter, rolling
wild, bouncing, as the matted heather
lifted on the upward moor. The golden
brackened memory does not crack nor break
a little too close, too intimate
in the contraception of comfortable time:
when all discourse labours to consider
if what we say is repetition.
The thrill of what attracts
does not repel but re-enforces.
....
all poetry is reliable narration
betwixt disgust and reason hinges
the secret soundings of the soul
all poetry is reliable narration
lies the wind lies the wind
that wind who fathered Cain
jealous of quiet spaces
the honoured man the wind
carries the voice of the living
and the dead unreliable now
....
all poetry is relaible narration
jealous of quiet spaces
lies the wind, lies the wind
betwixt disgust and reason hinged
....
the wind who Cain begot
jealous of quiet spacees
the honoured man, the wind
betwixt disgust and reason hinged
lies the wind, lies the wind
in sounding of the secret soul
jealous of quiet spaces
carries the voice of the living
or the dead unrelaibel now
all poetry is reliable narration
....
the wind begetting Cain
jealous of quiet space
the honoured man, that wind
betwist disgust and reason hinged
lies the wind, lies the wind
in sounding of the secret soul
jealous of quiet spaces
carries the voice of the living
or the dead unreliable of now
....
all poetry is reliable narration
jealous of quiet space
a little to close. too intimate
in contrapunction of conception
....
what sahll I them them Lord
say yes
...
what shall I tell them Lord, tell them
but catch outstretched in joyous turning
the tear that tastes the lip
all poetry is reliable narration
jealuos of quiet spaces
a little too close, to intimate
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