High Summer
The city is quiet
all who can have fled
to camp or cottage
to beach and to water.
Still we remain.
(file under not-robot barcode art)
rudimentary fragments of a discontinued etherbot
“Be in this world as if you are a traveler, a passerby, with your clothes and shoes full of dust. Sometimes you sit under the shade of a tree, sometimes you walk in the desert. Be always a passerby, for this is not home.”
Filed under
poetry
NOT YET READY FOR THE KNACKER'S YARD
Extend a line beyond the early beats; stretch it,
Like a Scratch Perry dub, true time an' a one time,
Dis time be our time an' a only ours, you an' a me,
Beneath the twig red apple tree; buds a burning.
Stretch the day, make it warm; push back on the grey,
This could be the day; any day but same old yesterday,
Hold it hard and we'll run like dogs, 'neath the sun,
Don't stop. Further, there: see the green? Stretch it.
Errant Missive v0.1.0
received in Fiji via email 30 March, 2004
thank you for keeping this.
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