Friday 22 November 2013

#35 - Therefore It Is Bad

Uncomfortable truths skulk in the hedgerows before sunrise,
stirring at the hot wind that ghosts the field madder.
If a stoat gullets partridge eggs than that is her business;
it's scarcely your place to go steaming in with your box traps
and bait bottles and your orange-blue morality.
Voles twist amongst the dog-violets and the bloody crane's bill
and think nothing of your thundering. Compassion hangs,
a cloud with a dark, pancaked base and white tower
tipping windward; it threatens;
it absorbs.

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