Well the night was a harrowing
of squall, rainstorm-gale-lashed
and dream climbed the rigging,
despite the triple-grog, triple groggy,
to look out over misbehaviour.
The morning, noon, thereafter
awash, alash, doom-clouds aloud,
a purple haze of splotches, satellite -
though forgetfulness... no worries;
and we Googled Lynn Margulis
the lady of symbiosis.
So when the calm came we shopped,
found bogrolls had returned to Aldi;
and Cornucopia stamped its culture
on our checkout conversations:-
life after hoarding; sufficient unto the day.
Or the dark, since clocks wound back
last weekend, sprung a shocking thong of dusk
purpled imperially with few seeded stars.
So then we had to watch Rogue 1 again,
that all heroics pass the snitch, dob
of hope-on-fire, fleeced from myth,
dug of darkest archaeologies.
Golden Fleece - The Shirt of Nessus...
Who can tell them both from butter,
but the stork?
......................
