i don't do telephone conversations well,
after one a few hours prior
had to change my rhetoric,
too much paperwork, even though
everything was turning digital, pixel,
i had to walk to the surgery
and say:
i need these sleeping pills like
someone on high blood pressure pills,
i go coo coo without them.*

then into the fields with five beers,
the seagulls 30 miles from sea congregated
around a makeshift pond,

what am i? a walking phone-box?!
yeah, i'm on the bus 15 minutes 4 bus-stops later,
two metres apart, a. phones b. and says
'i'm here,' b. answers, 'wait, let me
put my sunglasses on to see the red carpet.'
what is this sizzle? carpet or bacon?
both are flying,
i go in and the turkish girl wonders why she's
hasn't seen me for some time...
cognitively the conversation would sound anything
like this but like this, had i the esteem to pet her:
got no money but have a sense of humour;
i'll take... but not take... crawls into spider-webs
and dark corridors of being abbreviated as a possessor
of something fancy, something glittery...
something worth a market stall...
but still she asks where i was...
preoccupied i say, i took the body for a holiday
and took thought among manual labours...
got a heidegger out of it...
and when i walked among the pastures
i came across river guided by man's expertise...
and a mini waterfall...
and i invoked a maxim that looked like:
what poet can't fathom or capture with the tools
he's given, he'll surely admire...
for there's no onomatopoeia (the poet's incisor tool,
the poet's scalpel, the unit) for a waterfall,
there's only glee... for it is said that
when something becomes too beautiful
to be written down, it is admired...
no sound can be captured, captured in order
to replicate an echo...
hence the painters and equally divisible stagnation...
poets capture sounds,
painters' sight akin colour for oily red when
it was dry red of seasons' change;
and the chemists capture scents.
when something cannot be captured in a designated
medium, there comes a dis-ability...
the perpetuated consistency of attempt upon attempt...
no poet can word a waterfall with onomatopoeic syllables
however well crafted for an alphabet...
stand stare look... the water falls to a fluid
circumstance of a constantly broken mirror of eternity:
here reside, here you are!
no wording is given to a waterfall,
no di-hydride oxy (H2O)... it's there, not requiring
a nostalgia akin to the german nostalgia of ancient greece....
it's there, and forever remain.