Is it a scent that makes old eyes fill
Cabbage and dirt
Iron and hydrangea
A rock in the chest
A fragment lodging
Slight murmur in the basic beat
The footsteps of children
Their opened-mouth laughs
And squinting behaviour
A style of hat
A purposeless walk
With dust in the air
And still things go flying
And land where they may
A silent investment
So tragically connected
Strings that appear
Under the right kind of light
It seems like magic
But explains itself backwards
Like anything else
These pangs of potential
That drown in a recipe
Too old to change
Too foreign to keep
And this is the soup
That feeds angry men
The pebbles of freedom
Stuffed in a suit pocket
Painful to swallow
Yet all that there is
--
2.5.07
Cabbage and dirt
Iron and hydrangea
A rock in the chest
A fragment lodging
Slight murmur in the basic beat
The footsteps of children
Their opened-mouth laughs
And squinting behaviour
A style of hat
A purposeless walk
With dust in the air
And still things go flying
And land where they may
A silent investment
So tragically connected
Strings that appear
Under the right kind of light
It seems like magic
But explains itself backwards
Like anything else
These pangs of potential
That drown in a recipe
Too old to change
Too foreign to keep
And this is the soup
That feeds angry men
The pebbles of freedom
Stuffed in a suit pocket
Painful to swallow
Yet all that there is
--
2.5.07
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