Waterforest

This like is greatly dis-tended
To include knotting
What I can’t wonder understanding
Is why it should ever come to tie
Bits, thoughts, memories, hates, clichés
In all but one occurrence,
Welcome me to my frantic excite
I am never going to walk away from
Is it mental! Is it a ritual!
Heaving all this bulk like this
Into this snatchy habit
Can it smile ever again, this lip
When the teeth bares thus in place
This like is greatly mis-tended
We certainly cannot walk away this time
This like is past like

I have lost my faith
Looking on, thinking about this heist
That fugitive within the spirit of my thought
I can’t hold to this moribund wraith any more
That’s the root of my consciences’ unease
Taking that you have let me be
I like your Sunday muse,
When smart kids run to church
With their parents tagging along labouring to
keep their shoes shine
And later walk home, hungry, hurrying to
eat lunch-
I like my Sunday muse
When I sit on the verandah listening to
Biggie
Worrying about his pride in bed-
Me, worrying about the space that is morrow.