it is a quarry man’s cottage, well they all are in blaenau except the foreman’s house.
a small villa. the bus goes by. some things have labels.
some folk wear solid shoes, a good overcoat look you in the eye.
some friends are dusty, remind us of
the grumpy egg.
it is a source of inspiration, and research. it is written, yet having writ. we use. imagination, add a dose of suggestion, slightly thinking this is fact we do not move on when perhaps we should. so moving on quickly……
maybe we need to check our numbers at the end, see if one or more are missing. need to count them carefully, one side then the other.it is all a pattern, that keeps us safely, leads us onward.
what about this list, to do it before you die, well as she said, you probably can’t do it after. some may disagree – another belief. we try not to judge, yet that bucket was not worth five pound,so
we paid two.
ready for later.
tell us things, take us without consent. there are no records.
mine are all destroyed. ask them. there are no answers.
so we attended regularly, varied chancel houses, over
time. sit up, stand up, sit down, recite, remember, stand.
up for yourself at last.
do not believe all that you are told, all that you like to.
think about it.
you wanted to believe that you believed that.
the truth is.
you did not.
we live rural.i have an immersion for hot water,
and for work. along side research and hot baths
keeps the days flowing.
there is a gas pipeline crossing near us, yet not with
us.next door neighbour is the gas man yet not required
locally.he has bottled stuff while i have not.
mary was stuck behind a lorry delivering the latter
so was later arriving here. today.
i switch it on each morning then evening though they
do say it can be economical to leave it on all day. i have
not tried that.
no mash, laid on stuffing. i tasted it, reflected
on the day. natural history musem taxidermy.
two floors of victorian cabinets. dust & formaldehyde .
fish in bottles.i went to see some beetles you know
all pinned and tiny labelled. all gone for cleaning.
that evening at dinner he pulled my leg over labelling
& asked me where i shopped. did mash really depress?
i left the stuffing.
the boy plays on his own, in water it can’t be helped.
machines work less in cold, sheds and lack of encouragement.
the dream, frost cancelled a while. visitors came, the day proceeded gently with
stops and dictation, who is this?
spring came. each road a picture, slowly staring, visual overload resulting.
i could not breathe
the lime kilns are empty now.