Hymn to a Moonwalk flow along intimate channels tracking past undrawn curtains a grey, slow rabbit hedge blink to back away from prints of wind waves and the bands of hair him sedimentary, him interlocked trotters and ankles belabouring road hunched in the spitting heather and there are miles to go in the air moon gaining height bound beneath docks a story of dry ears and mouth, a freezing telephone box huddled in a bag, gleaming nail varnish between pub and lesson before music vigorous spirits hung a boulder in the sky for us to ignore at the end of the sun Sunday followed the line down into the foolscap hoards into impossible volume of futurist creep.
11
