Thursday, January 10, 2008


Oh ashen, greyed light
and oh the light that is not dimmed,
like reflected from some great metal dish interposed
between me
and the sky
siding down across the sky
and scraping down, like metal along against the side of wet bricked walls
come sliding down and risking itself against the rough wall

one hope, and one sky, towards the upheld metal grey dome, I would would this jump up, or be one jump up, first, against the sky, up to the sky
towards the sky, feeling and freeing free the grey uprushing wind or the air brushing against my sides, up past the twitting noisy miner juvenile, and up past
Indian mynah brown and twirling in the air
or would could, probable,
and one bent-kneed deferring ready jump, tendons poised, with those birds
yellow feeted, ready against them,
ready to them, in the image of their bent kneed flight,
yellow footed and spur heeled
taken one giant leap, had been,
and floated if perhapsingly up toward windwardly windingly up into tumbled downd clouds that thick themselves round towards the
towards the
under round and spun.

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