there are no pins,
no easy way to fix
some things.
this time, we wait
to see the outcome.
mended plates aren’t funny,
scaffold a life.
don’t laugh, it may
happen to you.
listen, repeat the
random insects.
stitch another way.
sbm.
as artists we go free,
yet included in the fee,
are coconuts and wrestling.
we travelled the path
again, he swarm followed
in revery.
the heron flew over.
while all the while we
danced and capered,
costumed and bustled,
women dressed as men,
men the women.
he held her on his knee
tenderly.
sigh on sigh,
they are in love,
them so beautiful,
down in the forest.
he held her on his knee
tenderly.
not bitten.
sbm.
warm, a sudden breeze.
as you like it.
from the valleys they came,
to act, entertain, travelling
troupe.
eye to eye, interaction, plenty
of action, and oh,
the costumes all pretty
in that green place,
with a hey
and a ho.
birds sang, ants crept.
we laughed, sang, danced the lane
forgetting the path.
it was, as we
like it.
sbm.
to some one else,
will they fall upon flesh,
rip it, rearrange,
leave to sleep?
maybe it were their rags.
handle with care,
small eggs hold with love,
rearrange tenderly, add cake.
we saw hedd wyn, yesterday.
sbm.
writing stuff, not physically,
curled up in the big settee.
opened the window behind me,
talked to pretoria, prettily.
not hard work, packing stuff,
to go, unless big and unwieldy.
midsummer yesterday, it was
not difficult to see it through, warm
and sunny.
dreaming of war tired me.
yellow star houses.
sbm.