early for work, so
cut my nails you know,
hoping it will make typing
more precise.

i bought the set in
glasgow, arcade, then
saw it cheaper on ebay.

it has lasted well.

nals look better,
typong still *******.

sbm.

reading the line, moved the line
into a place of hedges, rural
contemplation.

not understanding the word,
we google and discuss.

so many connections, so
much came from nothing,
god particle, if god
is the word to use.

reading the line, we move
into a place of hedges, where
the wild things grow.

there the wild things grow.

sbm.

over the roof, low
flew above me, hovering.

called the gardener, he came
running. we watched the
red kite.

together.

they used to be rare.

sbm.

box hedged, so neat you can lean.

most days the doors are open,
on monday the doors are open.

wardrobe, cupboards, willingly,
if not just ask. see all the things
with love, to work with . linen fabric
hand sewn, pleated, contrast panels,
hung with tissue. brown paper
tied with notes. remember
their polished shoes, the smell of
home, your childhood.

books are tied in black, quilts
stitched with feathers, while friends
drift into mind, move, softly leave.

concentrate on another way.

watch the birds.

sbm.

there are no pins,
no easy way to fix
some things.

this time, we wait
to see the outcome.

mended plates aren’t funny,
scaffold a life.

don’t laugh, it may
happen to you.

listen, repeat the
random insects.

stitch another way.

sbm.

it was well said.

tired of all the rags and critisms?

listen to the artist, talk of
cumbria and cul de sacs.

listen to another, who follow stars,
cellular memory.

i have been a while here, now.
it may be time to leave, and find
the other way.

sbm.

as artists we go free,
yet included in the fee,
are coconuts and wrestling.

we travelled the path
again, he swarm followed
in revery.

the heron flew over.

while all the while we
danced and capered,
costumed and bustled,
women dressed as men,
men the women.

he held her on his knee
tenderly.

sigh on sigh,
they are in love,
them so beautiful,
down in the forest.



he held her on his knee
tenderly.

not bitten.

sbm.

warm, a sudden breeze.

as you like it.

from the valleys they came,
to act, entertain, travelling
troupe.

eye to eye, interaction, plenty
of action, and oh,
the costumes all pretty
in that green place,
with a hey
and a **.

birds sang, ants crept.

we laughed, sang, danced the lane
forgetting the path.

it was, as we
like it.

sbm.

late june, it is a darker green,
jasmine climbs the window,
storms brew, we are older now.

we have watched the house,
is he leaving now?  is this that darker
place?

plans for the forest fell apart, with apathy,
lack of repellant. we will try again,
tonight.

it is a darker place.

sbm.

left the ring in procession,
silently walked the track.

dust rose, the distance grew.

out of sight, talked in code and rhythms.

a train passed, gulls flew the heat haze.

on return, no one spoke.

sbm.

to some one else,

will they fall upon flesh,
rip it, rearrange,
leave to sleep?
maybe it were their rags.

handle with care,
small eggs hold with love,
rearrange tenderly, add cake.

we saw hedd wyn, yesterday.



sbm.

a hot day at the mill,
fans cooled us, wool
sat heavy.

heat rose from the car park,
we busied.

made enough dogs.

i have no photograph,
the usual line.

sbm.