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thehinterlandonline:thecactusland:stuart_laidlaw
roadtrip
We all sit very quiet.
The fields pass by,
all dandelions and cowpats.
My arm,
sitting in the amplified sun,
is hot and i can see the shadows
of all the very fine hairs
spiky like eyelashes,
on the window sill.
Heads rested,
we stare through glass
and cannot hear
crickets and frogs
and wind rustling through
green spring thickets and
through tall spring grass.
Heads rested,
i stare through glass at
a hawk overhead and
i sit very quiet.
Repeat
I like to stay in bed
for seven extra minutes.
One
i smell the funk in the pillow case
Two
i feel the cold wall against my hot calves
Three
i taste my warm stale breath
Four
i turn onto my back
stare through the dust
floating random through my outstretched fingertips
Five
i trace the lines of light from cracks in the curtain
Six
i hear snips of sentence from the hall
Seven
I feel the smooth plastic o-ness
of the sleep button -
i like to stay in bed for seven extra minutes.
diffident
sometimes i write very small to feel far away.
The sun is bright and cold and
bounces off the page and
into my eyes
i can't see.
The sun is bright and
sometimes i feel cold
because my coat has holes
or i am far away.
The sun is cold and
i am bright
as the white beams off the page
drains my half-yellow face
to ash -
the sun is cold and
i am bright and
while i am purest pale
i am still half-reflected
Languid
loll on the bed and
mannequin fragile
find wrinkles in the sheets.
fingers search old maps
read creases
countries
braille-thin ridges
of man-made mountains
find ripples rifts valleys
blue white floral
basins from bums
ancient and solid
find hair-thin rivers
short crescents
long and straight
lift her arm
to find undiscovered countries
sweep her sunfire hair
let her turning
sleeping
head
create continental drift.
all
poems copyright 2000 astuart laidlaw [reprint only with author's consent]
