I observe several canoes, unmanned, laden with rotting fruit
Description of a daydream: dandelions & quarrelsome
jays
Coins fall from dead eyes, sun risen
& memories of a lilac moon in the hyper-realistic
atmosphere
The dance proceeds so slowly, with such extraordinary
solemnity, that one might think it no dance at all
Iain Duncan Smith is
An anagram of The Exterminating Angel
Nothing makes any sense, or nothing makes some sense,
or nothing makes no sense
Or anything makes no sense of nothing nor something is
nothing’s sense of fear
In line 1 I spelt canoes incorrectly
Initially I observe several incorrectly, unmanned,
laden with rotting fruit
How warm it is today, breezes gently drifting through
a shopfront of pantaloons & a fair prospect of fairground rides
“The conquerors’ dogs ripped the victims to shreds”
Torta dell’abbondanza
Simon,
ReplyDeleteBack in that earlier Glaciation, when I was but a lad, slow dancing was thought to be the very best kind, especially satisfying any time a Missa Solemnis was underway. And now that time has come round again, and glad of it am I, for it has delivered this very particular music of serial swirling eddies.
Do you think everything might perhaps make a wee bit more sense, though, if the fruit had been equipped with a paddle?
The fruit I fear is truly up a creek without a paddle.
ReplyDeleteI was never much of a dancer: when I was but a lad we had Friday night rituals of excruciating awkwardness known as discos. In truth I'd rather have been listening to the Missa Solemnis, but hey ho.