a rising mist
The Goodly Mist
A Workingblog for Rob Sherman
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Headdress

October 10, 2012

The buzzard washed the deer of its head
Its beak a tap.
Which of the three thousand badgers
That are watching us
Set the airpump going?
Who brought the smell of fish into these woods?
And the mudskippers
That once were flies
They share the same shoulders
Ill-designed
For carrying off eyelashes by the bundle.

Firewood and headdress
The deer is dead
Tell the others
What an insult
To leave the eyes
To watch itself be amphibianed.
Made into water

Not much left
But my mum made a child
By how silly it all is