Thursday, 4 February 2010

Firebird awe

Sounds vibrate from far, far human voices

and distant visions poke through foggy glasses,

or felt in a belly by personal choices

- what to quaff ?- lemonade or lies or beer,

all nascent and frothy. As time passes,

less and less I taste and smell whatever’s near.

But before I choose to swallow

distant sound, I also can prefer to speak:

creating a truth or lie that others maybe follow

as a will o’ the wisp - a single word

fluting away to bleak,

gigantic air – a feathery flight, or firebird.

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