Day in the Mind of the Life in the Garden

By | 31 July 2012

four weeks since the night        fed ice      fed you cube by melting cube

on a certain day of July in 2012    commenced sunshine day’s early on
secret smoke     the Bosnian bedsocks toed out in sandals

garbage out fire fixed lit compost gone recycling chimney checked smoke blue sky sunny bathmat dry already  8 32     15 inside  12 out            burning something green needs attention only down last week

for a first thing blue persisting    the dream remembers me now – I made a waterfall out of milkcrates doesn’t matter which colours      there’s some bamboo structure I explain to Max from next door remains of something I built with Halliday    I can’t tell what it was anymore      certainly not my place but of course it has to be      continents drift all night like this     I dream the perfect virus    wipes everything you look for      and following Elpenor to some unnamed town in Hell, he re-enacts the roof tumble which is when everyone’s head comes off and we go to the real underworld    torsos left frozen   the kids upstairs put rubbish on those clean cut neck plinths     and what can you say but how would you like it if someone did that to you when your head was off …
… a night of such toil and scribble it down

see in the blue that old cloud      comes for me time to time       and up to the dairy for inksports    for colour    drift for the grist    oh pleasantly pleasantly     by saliva we wash o pups    slush tongue   of the place        Ganesh hello in passing         and shall I so visit the elephant kin?   be out in the lemonfall garden       be winterchipping    show growth      for winter is the season of garden      to lurk and to linger in sickness and health

they came at you with knives

here’s hoe it has a handle   x     x     x     then up the garden path as recently set in stone
who knows where next appreciate it            and while with the spin of words       fresh yellow
someone with some arse to echo          birds through the tree

so many mail order green things to ground   to mulch   to water
the fire worries me      that plate at the back     needs someone stronger than me to shift

best to be under when they come at you    best to be talked down   those some seconds
by a radio voice and personable    best to go gently     dreamless into the tug and tear

something between rumble and flutter    and the lowing ruts    lower reaches     as here the wrens
do flit of hommage     and then the radio is with us      pianos of the competition

gout and bunion fungus toe    you can see why ghosts forego feet

four weeks since the ice night womb went     praying for rain now the pump is fixed

behind the back dam a shag suns wings         and fans to aid damp rays
only the winter bird does that    weed beguiled    the rendered spell is timber
saw and splutter and axe betide                 so many ways surviving

you see I’m in the dreamt of place     subtle of the sight before      writing on brown paper
in the one secret day of July      available among the notes keyflung     strung      mr smokey say


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