Bora born
Round trip _
A six o'clock start seeds the day with benign
design in ritual with solemn intent.
Two gravestones at innisfail's cemetery need
a facelift from mildews incessant onslaught
the wet season's ubiquitous silent trend
entropy greets on hallowed ground betwixt friends.
The sextant has prepped his arrival, machines
in place water jets ready, their job is done.
Three layers of paint stripper etched out the mess
from letters carved in stone black granite's story
sung for thempla in salted sand well below.
Such a thing as this pressure fed holds business
trends back from slow walk slides into nothingness.
Concrete's cracked, broken weathered edges, suggests
time speeds up when kettles boil away smokos
tea of story trees signed on to mime each day.
Moving on, the GP's knife sends my body
bits by pieces to their well earned end, so sad.
A race to get there first it would seem to those
netherworlds where the language of numbers finds
truth for thempla who care to pay attention.
A central kabab cut in two, a flat brewed
coffee then on my way back up the mountain.
So many stops building ideas on projects
forming in the mind, rates paid council's sting, cracked
jokes, bruno our local gigalo the butt.
Bill's for tea yarns floats the day's esoteric
bent in multiple tones of subtle patience.
Numbers have flown by an 8:11 start
through 1:11, 2:11 such a
day 8:11:11 sleep time sent.
- O -
© 9th mar 2021 _ Ian James Daniel
Author's notes and media are here.
design in ritual with solemn intent.
Two gravestones at innisfail's cemetery need
a facelift from mildews incessant onslaught
the wet season's ubiquitous silent trend
entropy greets on hallowed ground betwixt friends.
The sextant has prepped his arrival, machines
in place water jets ready, their job is done.
Three layers of paint stripper etched out the mess
from letters carved in stone black granite's story
sung for thempla in salted sand well below.
Such a thing as this pressure fed holds business
trends back from slow walk slides into nothingness.
Concrete's cracked, broken weathered edges, suggests
time speeds up when kettles boil away smokos
tea of story trees signed on to mime each day.
Moving on, the GP's knife sends my body
bits by pieces to their well earned end, so sad.
A race to get there first it would seem to those
netherworlds where the language of numbers finds
truth for thempla who care to pay attention.
A central kabab cut in two, a flat brewed
coffee then on my way back up the mountain.
So many stops building ideas on projects
forming in the mind, rates paid council's sting, cracked
jokes, bruno our local gigalo the butt.
Bill's for tea yarns floats the day's esoteric
bent in multiple tones of subtle patience.
Numbers have flown by an 8:11 start
through 1:11, 2:11 such a
day 8:11:11 sleep time sent.
- O -
© 9th mar 2021 _ Ian James Daniel
Author's notes and media are here.
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Round trip _
Round trip _
