Unbar the Winter
I’ll long where it longs
: I’ll Winter here
evering the wind’s seven strings
For what is the sea
: no longer a song :
but salt-stained glass
: greengray bird’s longwing :
A line-monger’s lined face
if it knows you not
Just how standing wild
can wood stand to be
when its knots are unknotted
when you know not the why?
I’ll long the Winter
: play how you’ll not :
See how it earns colours
sky-changed like the sea.
Unbar the Winter
When ashes came and lay on the world and knew the world and cloaked the world Tam was there and only Tam. Thunder echoed a far-off bawling. But it was noise now. It would never be a name again. Wind railed against the grey of things. It licked the ground but never set down.
Only Tam walked the earth as ever. Tam and Ace and the darkening days. The sundered sky closed over like a wound. Every cloud the same shape as the sky and the whole of the sky the same colour as ground. All the world grey but where Tam lit his fire.
People unsheathed their faces long ago. Revealed their muzzles when the world turned to carrion. Drums echoed in the hills. Dishwater in the valleys. Tam cracked the world’s bones and lived off its marrow. Thunder bawling in the far-off.
Tam and Ace forgot their words. They grew older together than this new world. Remembered the shapes of older things but carried them barren in wordless memory.
All the world grey but where Tam lit his fire. All the world lit by Tam’s dawning fire.
Got mah hurr did, properly, for the first time in ages, albeit with the exact same cut as ever. As such, here are some photos of my
hurr hair’s infinite (read: threefold) versatility, and my face’s complete lack thereof. I have on expression one webcam, and that is the bemused frown, directed at the complex controls.
Writing an essay on why my university should award me a prize and lots of money, so that I can go and visit internet friends. Let’s do this.
This time at the big fancy pointy neo-gothic hotel in King’s Cross.
There are no names Thunder said
to light the faces soil has taken :
fallow lie the graves & graves
knowless folded with forget.
& there are tales & wise
that forget masks with each gone day
said the murmur of the Sea :
& spoke of mothers of mothers
now buried like maize
whose words & wise like maize will not
bear plumes & colours
their childer’s children to feed.
Soil then permitted writing
that not all things should pass its lips.
Permitted were rememberforms
& membrances made of redblack shapes.
The line of straight for earth’s old allness
& line of curve for the shifting sky.
Only Tam did not rejoy
for he saw in the pictureforms
the road by which all change would die
& membrances be solid accepted
until the world was solid too.
Between the straight line & the curved line
Tam fled : never to be pinned down :
& between places names and formings
he moved : by motion changing shoutlike.
(Featuring perhaps some of the best burgers and biggest queues in London…)
Looks like my superiors finally got their shit together. Result.