they forecast it,
we do not listen any more,
just check the window.

the radio is old, retro,
gift for a birthday,
arrived late we did not say,
not
wishing to upset.

headlights flash, sheep
on the road,
the pheasant run, a pleasant
run, minding squirrels, other odd
furry things on the road.

hurt no living thing.

it rained all day, new
dress on the line, still wet.

are suggested quickly, no time taken to

utter the words. yet. it will take a while

to order, to plant, it will all be lovely,

unless bitter words entice despondency,

low spirits from a loss of hope, of courage.



we shall carry on until the paint runs out,

then we shall clean the old rugs., order two hundred

bluebells.



he often has good ideas.

The quicksilver moon’s not secure in her orbit.
I’ve heard that she’s slyly slipping away,
One and a half inches yearly
so a little bit every day.

I, for one, want her to stay.
‘Oh meritorious silver sister, you have no dark side,
and I’ve grown used to your capricious light,
Why do you only hover at night?”

I think of her as my own
though she wears no ring
like that showy trollop Saturn
Our moon has a higher engagement pattern.

She’s a spectacle for moon-inspired dances
and a cupid for nocturnal animalistic romances.
Have you noticed that sometimes she’s dark
and sometimes she’s bright?

What turns her on?
What turns her off?
That’s always the question with ladies,
isn’t it?
.
.
Songs for this:
Dancing In The Moonlight (feat. NEIMY) by Jubël
Fly Me to the Moon (feat. Izzie Naylor) Shoby
Moonlight Becomes You by Jeff Haislip

cut deep,   while others are sleeping.

we tread the way, from here to there,

leaving a trail.             you may follow.

cut round the cowslips, leave the twigs.

step this way, it leads to the old apple tree,

cookers. step that way

plum blossom.

nothing is straight, nothing planned.

later we watched chelsea .

as if          mining silver
from the very air           that swims
            just above their
traveler-hooded crests ||

heads, meant for dreaming
     :
of the bonds between all                   distance .


prism dust ||
passed like
  the     swapped     civilizations    in     your
                            spit-
         from lip to lip .



ferried                   through

a
weary, unknowable path  ||

              outofwhich,our
[outstretched eyes form the terminal bud ]



-

it catches your mouth about to move
and fills
     it
with opalescent
tributes





 
it,

_

   stored and released


in the dna
circuits . in
vellum and
stone

||



in breath, body, and their respective undoings.


that which
keeps     
      reading          the stairwell


keeps.  and is kept.

but not consecrated, nothing holy. 'bout me, excluding this bodies holies, by which I blatant blather re
my hole-ies,
the sane same places thru we ******,
intake
expiate
initiate
the most
intimate
intense
purely
human activities
breathing
excretion
speak
see
hear
make love
completely
hell
maybe  the
places
we get


consecrated

**** ain't that iron ironic

or is this just another con
centric to human existence

"what's the longest you stayed up?" jack asks.

"oooh, 5 days, a week. who knows?"

they take the shots, touch glasses,
throw down the bourbon.

"I wonder if animals have dreams?" jack says,
I wonder if dogs dream?"

"sure they do, dogs, cats, squirrels, birds," bob is nodding
his head up and down." it's all biochemical.

"not insects."

"why not? fleas, June bugs, moths. it's all biochemical, mix in electrical impulses, you got love and dreams. jack,

tell your dreams to me."

he said the flames

came over the trees.



behind the buildings.

bombed the buildings.



so do not wonder why

i don’t play soldiers,

lay them down to die.



he says that i will not battle,

i am no good at it.

too peaceful. i can play

hospitals.