yep, it's that time. explorations of rythm and subtlety of meaning. there's even a little oversimplified introspection and a dash of symbolism.
a strong west wind
cloven-hooved, agape, in consequential rhythm-rape,
odorous odifery in my periphery
stuttered for the sake of me
shuttered minds, dots connecting
fettered boat, an empty shore
weathered oarlocks overworn
shifting beachsand underfoot
lilting hoarsely cry the gulls
arranging rocks in circles
amazing and strange, cold sand
each agate borne smooth, but these,
these are not your remedy
muttered incandescently
sweltered in the light of things
open-jawed, westerly, plague of locusts came to be,
drifting like the snow, semantic shift in spite of me.
so there you have it. it kind of sits there like a toad at first, but then it grows on you... or at least it does me...
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