07 Sept 2010
Daniel J. Sherburn.
Counting down from 4 figs to none
While punters and artists collide
Mental patience voices sound down
From the king’s to trinity speaking
Many tunes and knowing notes
Wheelie boy showing no holy triangle
And desolate individual wanders silent
Tread past clattering saucers and roast
To cupola and round temple gates
The journey to babel’s home we regret
So wherefore next shall we amble?
If the soil draught we could there get
But instead ledge in sun a while.
Consumed the flesh in some tranquility
A wasp and green bottle encounter vile
Over my dusty feet and hands
They are strangers lost yet
Aware the season moving gears
And doing all their corpus allows
Before vanished in our eyes.