dipping down the well
i found a possum shining for tea
it was grey as grass with a ruby red throat
conjuring up something a plum would have noticed
when it was all up and the powder turned green
their lips parted and their horns began to shine
it was a little startled at first, but then leveled off a bit
each spring settling down into some ink and snow
scrubs would grub their rosy wings reaching in dreams
caspers growing from pot holes in brown greens
onions leaning their elbows to harp and pine
lessons forgiving what the sloped news knows
dried as dressings and salmon toad
leaches living off sea bottoms decide to fly
washing in norms dressing in vulgar to find the divine
reading through silt the slide doors opens
two pox, a time table, a sneeze of trees
welcome wells into columns, hooks into cheese
possums of corners never land
fixtures unopened, no one to feed
settles saddle down to a dry cold room steeped in dreams
nobody called, nobody cared, nobody gives a damn
another lesson designed and destroyed
nothing was done
reset the watch
set it ticking
denis streeter 4/10/17
