Random Thoughts


imagine before you
a march of days
during which your outward gestures
are known to you explicitly

to what end would you
seek your dreams
in the mysterious fields of yours
which none may travel
they're yours only

imagine before us
a scattering of men
a mixing of sand in the tide
travelling a thousand courses

to what end could we
seek our means
as we struggle at each others mouths
because we haven't learned

184/79 (7/3/79)

(ed. note: this "poem" shows a bad habit I used to have - at least, I hope it is banished - of working up something interesting as I wrote, but not really having a strong way to end it. I think the last few lines could be much better, and I may alter them someday.

typos? comments? mail me here

© Huw Powell

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