No high ceiling helped
he stayed close to the floor
crawling around
at best, in the comfort zone
Chilled, like fresh produce
only raw thing
were the feelings
lost to the tides of opinion.
When I read this in the email I thought of a fly at the end of a day in a market... and then I read it here and felt the chill disapproval of a vagrant seeking repentance in the clinical concrete gothic of that church interior...
"lost to the tides of opinion" so good, as we are most certainly being lost in such these days. I wish more and more that the old saying that my grandparents were so fond of would come back, "keep your opinions to yourself, lad." Great poem, SE.
When I read this in the email I thought of a fly at the end of a day in a market... and then I read it here and felt the chill disapproval of a vagrant seeking repentance in the clinical concrete gothic of that church interior...
"lost to the tides of opinion" so good, as we are most certainly being lost in such these days. I wish more and more that the old saying that my grandparents were so fond of would come back, "keep your opinions to yourself, lad." Great poem, SE.