Michael Farrell: greenwood values

my feet are birds on whats left of the trees
the dream reconciles me
living here without goodbye
& so you know that somethings wrong
an atmosphere a general
abnormality where needs of
affection transgress boundaries &
ghosts arent laid to rest
this is the kind of dark we move in
& the breaching allows eruptions
under an imaginary cover our desires
erect them permissiveness whispers
it would take dangers but
romance is a danger itself & is a flat any
different are all pulses ends in
themselves beans counted once
& forgotten
there could
be so much we could do with within these
social patterns so delicately enforcing decay
time is of the construction &
expectations formed during
the cold war of infancy so therapeutic
no doubt yet perhaps damaging
also the general echoes in unexpected
attitudes how is power distributed &
to or is it assumed
though each environment takes on its own cast
a breeze blows out a candle the
mistakes layer themselves in
a life & we walk on ever headier beds
peas are needed each pale &
single child the wreckage
divested within easy distance
sort it out & carry it back down the steps
greatness
among the most domestic rules