As a bathtub lined with white porcelain,
When the hot water gives out or goes tepid,
So is the slow cooling of our chivalrous passion,
O my much praised but-not-altogether-satisfactory lady.

My script or
My scriptor

The spectator sport of
reading and representing
present in the temporal
sense that is constant

Confined to its binding
in one setting up the
dictionary of texts

For the scriptor to arrange
For the ****** to graze

I

I am the undertow
Washing tides of power
Battering the pillars
Under your things of high law.

II

I am a sleepless
Slowfaring eater,
Maker of rust and rot
In your bastioned fastenings,
Caissons deep.

III

I am the Law
Older than you
And your builders proud.

I am deaf
In all days
Whether you
Say "Yes" or "No".

I am the crumbler:
     To-morrow.

disgusting
and
delicious
flinch at the carnival food
I can't really recommend it
maybe if you have
some broccoli with it.

The way into excitement
Halting at the very essence
I round the bend, beyond the tree
Hello
Eye to eye, the reaching emotions
Industrious yet simplistic
Whom I have met before
Hooves upon my hands
How we forget the large tree
The impregnable abyss captures I
Oblivion

THE dews drop slowly and dreams gather:  unknown
spears
Suddenly hurtle before my dream-awakened eyes,
And then the clash of fallen horsemen and the cries
Of unknown perishing armies beat about my ears.
We who still labour by the cromlech on the shore,
The grey caim on the hill, when day sinks drowned in
dew,
Being weary of the world's empires, bow down to you.
Master of the still stars and of the flaming door.