un-dream

everything was quiet

then it became more quiet

for 7 years I lived on the moon

& it never stopped snowing

to this I attribute

my obsession with bridges

which end nowhere,

& begin where they don’t end

~

turn your collar up

against the snow

“I suppose I knew I’d end up an addict

when they came for my eyes”

back then was a man

with no left arm

sleeve pinned to his jacket

he’d come from Poland, he called my mother “beauty”

but in a good way:

he bought me a Batmobile

~

“the pills don’t fucking work”

accepts all major credit cards

“that the use of figurative language, as of all other beauties of style, has a constant

tendency towards excess, is an obvious truth which I need not dwell upon”

if only more composers would write for the glass harmonica

it is a terrible truth, but Iain Duncan Smith is an aspect of reality

squirrel on haunches, turns walnut round in paws  /  looks in

on a universe behind a substance the squirrel’s rapped on several times

when I’ve been dilatory putting food out now its look seems to be curiosity:

“where’s the other one, who doesn’t move much but tries to scare the crows away”

another squirrel, tails raised, whirligig

then they come to an understanding & feed together peaceably

 ~

there are 777 words

it’s impossible to translate

from moon-language

into moon-language

(the number of words in moon-language

is infinite  /  in 2010 the population of Reykjavík, Iceland, was given as 118,488)

1 day

on the common

I wandered off

don’t know what I was looking for

a “nice lady” found me, brought me back

for 7 years I lived on the moon & it never stopped snowing, not for a single instant