a thousand small mechanics
of thinking
labour to bend my actions to
the will of the arbitrary world
plans mature and rot on the vine
the fetid odours of their decay
is focused by the summer emblazoned sun
she prunes the shaft and maintains the
brick and mortar of the family's tradition
such pride taken in century's
but such is folly illustrated by footprints
drunkenly sketched by predecessors
forgiving is her heart
the past melts into
a portrait of porcelain perfection
issued like decree by oil and canvass
she is a pile of frowns
as she paints a watercolour
of the house cat
it lounges near total abandonment of consciousness
licking itself in slow mental appeasement
of the same dire need that makes it chase its own tail
a thousand mechanics of thinking
their brawny limbs weary of
the attempt to teach
the fearless path
fall to slumber and dream sweetly of
fields of green and
vibrant promise