Meredith Quartermain Culvertage in the world we eat all the beats, all the beasts, all the holly on a clean grey deck of objective why not call the hills: they walk now, chairs, baking tins, trowel and hoe, the garbage cans stand alone with their parliament car running tarmac dayglow up ravine even though it's rented, meaning pants exchanged armies or bargains a row of poplars gilded by sunlight where do they wear beet gloves? marine street; she's matrix of buttons servile culvert, ready at the reedy edge of pond: why not call the hills they could swim yesterday where man and horse greenlaced in gold reading radio she thought radium wire oddly more widowed where meaning pants running up ravine only uncurling weeds and words themselves windows in wars against dandelions song of the dust song of the hairsprayed hydrangeas mammoth song, song of the floor song of the barrow to cement, planes to the deck of objective, blue sky to stretch mirth made to meat tune running culvert vegetable plots scattered through story her other as cadmium and like that metal having a cry when bent bits of bread change pond for promontory mud for money ravines for servitudes spiteful wax expounded in speech as words for tenancy culvertage: forfeiture asteroids named tom embroider sex between dwarf and normal hydrangeas why not call the hills breasts of plows of earth of walls of mines of birds breast of bones or beams of looms the hills wheel our earth Meredith Quartermain Index |
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