Us
A wind so slow as to be a stillness
deposits us in a mist of must,
settles us deftly in the dullness
of the house’s husk; we come to rest
and in diurnal dusk begin our work:
ekeing toeholds, making anchors fast
in the vertex of lath and joist, the crook
of crumbled dado, in every crack inhuming
ourselves in the soft absorbent dark.
Epicene, we set about terraforming:
transmute dust into mould, mould
murk into form in the gloaming,
until in a nook a huddled fold
crowds putative and innocuous
and we have colonised a world
without photosynthetic fuss,
stirring sterility into fullness
inexorably. There’s no quelling us.
I’m out of piss, you’ve taken it all! “Epicene” indeed!”Terraforming”……
Posted on 02-Apr-08 at 6:40 am | PermalinkEpicene I grant you, but we should all be familiar with terraforming.
Posted on 02-Apr-08 at 9:28 am | PermalinkYour a near-rhyming monster. When can we expect “Them” and will ‘they’ be presented so formally?
Posted on 04-Apr-08 at 9:35 am | PermalinkI think ‘they’ deserve a Rubaiyat.
“You’re” not your. I’m so possessive.
Posted on 04-Apr-08 at 9:36 am | PermalinkYOu don’t have to rubai yat in
Posted on 25-Apr-08 at 6:35 am | Permalink