Monday, October 24, 2016

Robert Verdon, #338, on the roof of the watershed

I have an apiary in my bonnet

I am wondering what to do with the rest of my life

Only beginnings can have ends?

Moon an oval cream nail on the black crêpe of a coffin-edge

Celestial rawl plugs let us hang portraits on the Northern Lights, the Southern as yet unmarred

The world is a hologram of a kitten in a cobweb knocking cherubs off architraves

Gingko trees call me from some distant memory

I have just bought a new bicycle

There’s always tomorrow


  1. I like this a great deal. Tomorrows are another beginning. Also apiarily. Rob

  2. (Nothing at all like this one of mine, but maybe it's the same bicycle...)


    The interpretive work
    Of being human the dirt
    Under those table legs the
    Dirt under the speakers yes
    The pretty dirt in our minds
    The skirting boards the dust
    That follows for ten months
    The years that we just let go
    There’s no point to it no
    All those bicycles in a tree
    Being dumb seeking truth
    A vacuum cleaning nothing
    A loud monkey shedding hair.


Note: Only a member of this blog may post a comment.