Under the rain-spit, ice-cream chimes;
yet soot lands on my smeary rhymes.
Barbie abortion? Better wait a bit.
Rain has just stopped. Those skies have split.
Another dark tranche on the way
could send his guests indoors to play.
I smell thin smoke, wet hedge and grass:
more pink than slate these clouds that pass.
I sit, a stone that's gathered moss -
ring-binders full, and that's no gloss.
If ever I fell to homeless harm
I'd fill my clothes with poems to warm.
But riches yet will come to me
when blackbird sings in apple tree.
..
YOU ARE READING
Bare Shouldered
Poetry"The difference of high Sensations with and without knowledge appears to me this - in the latter case we are falling continually ten thousand fathoms deep and being blown up again without wings and with all [the] horror of a bare shouldered Creature...
