top of page
Useless like an umbrella in the storm, your lofty plans too neat and sure for the unruly world. Better my jalopy cranking and taking me to real fabled places, passing by ancient mills with modern names, distant music from the alpenhorn, stopping by to hear the grievances of the grunting destitute. The traveller wakes and sleeps dreaming of earth flat as maps, attaining clothes of lightness cast in strength of iron. Old tidings come visit, happy to bake with me bread with cherries. Yes back once in a while, long ago yet never far.
Still I have failed those strong enough to make it, the intoxicated hero with a fondness for sacrifice. Left a gaping distance, a slow type of hunger never to be full. Crawling back into the training shed, pruning the cauliflowers to clear my thoughts, carving the pumpkins to find my niche. Trusting at last the decomposing process, the wordless teachings of mother earth.
bottom of page