Benjamin Dodds: satisfaction
Holding the taut barbed-wire with one hand And myself with the other, I gaze at the ground As hundreds of shining grey dust droplets Roll away from the rotting fence post, Down the hill, moving like mercury. The drumming piss Makes surf of the dirt, Churning it into frothing mud. Apostle birds (perhaps twelve of them) Launch and fan off above my head, Upset as I shake off the last bead And refasten.
This entry was posted on Wednesday, December 3rd, 2008 at 1:00 pm. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.
