Sunday, 26 March 2017

Woke from worlds
and worlds awoke in me

photophobic soil dwellers
scurrying away.


It is decided that memories are best bought. There is a heavy stone trough, redolent of daily life in a rustic setting. It is imported into my garden. I do not have any livestock which may drink from it. When it came to installing the plumbing for the hand pump, I ran out of money. If it rains, the trough is full of water. There is moss, and eventually a certain amount of slime. 

Worlds awake from the stone.
Ghosts of horses 

ghosts of dung
the flower beds are trampled all over.

Awaking from the green water, strange squiggles of living things. 
Soon the insects bite.



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