for the way

out a house of doors
and little rooms

and lounges

warm white sanctuary
to one or two

bewildered
faces

eyes

which look
without ever

lighting

on

the right
word

you can hear the tongues
revolving round

round

around
and around


as the earthworms must sound
when they come

to work at the flesh

through the wood
of the box









Philip Johnson @ moon a'la monde
http://www.philipjohnson.org.uk



if you are a regular here you know philip.
a wonderful and mysterious poet.