[The following word whirlpool has been kindly shared with us by Happy Cow's good friend Simon Drew. When he is not busy making ends meet, Simon can be found forcing corners to start casual dating, insisting that sides go steady, coercing middles into getting married and running the online groups English Stuff and H.A.T.S.T.A.N.D.(O.N.). If you were sucked down the plug hole by Simon's poem, why not show your appreciation by clicking on the 'Like' button at the bottom below. Enjoy!]
All caught up between the folds
playing out creating objects for desire
the play of whispering shouts
and of yesterday's future
in midst of storm
absent of dedication
and in that vacuum left
a fire burning without oxygen
dependent on collapse
a step, a glance, a blink
between the swaying blades of grass
a shot of light shoots through and melts into the earth
a description of a stand of trees
but next to that just a smile
just his quiet and breathing
just that sky, blank
just that sky behind the sky, before even blank is named
and just to be that
justified that
fell under that
and that was no longer that
(nor shorter)
after the radio has played all day
the silence of the night can be astonishing
a wind that blows all night
leaves against the roof
broken with dawn
held in the hand not held
guided by the guide unguided
worded by the worder unworded
it's not very long
but she let it sleep throughout the night
(how many dawns has she seen?)
and
when we forgot the word for warmth
all melted like wax before the furnace
and the floor rose up to be the ceiling
and the sides fell in to be the centre
and the gyrating desk fan seduced them all
and left all the stale fruit below with the roots
and when they said, "where do these words come from?"
all they got in return was a mirror
and they knew there was no end
and the words danced between the mirrors
and fell down between the sandstone
and mingled with the kelp, the sea shell, the blackbird's eyes
and the floor was being swept, and yet slept
catching nothing
sometimes they were hurricanes
twisting into a self
that gave it self a time
a name, a place
and still there, sliding across the screen
noises and flashes and pulling and pushing
and deep in her heart, a thunder
and her eyes, a flash of light,
that blinds both sides, and ceilings, and centers
and desk fans, looking side to side
midnight's hum, waiting for the light to close
the end of a story
clouds, rolling credits
sand song and memory juice
sliding, swirling
all down the kitchen sink
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