Gas to Liquids


Taken from below

The well of today

Has brought up

A bucket full of

Thirst on a long

Thin string ready

To crack with not

Much weight, Tight



The line’s tug is

Felt from above,

Where the knots

Rub sores on the

Bar of wood

That straddles the

Dead round hole-

Soul drop, below the bar.


The bar is my brain,

Pain is the knot

And the rope

Is my self

Whom I have taught

To expect Nothing. Neither

Bucket life and

But there is more

Rope and more depth

And more pain

And water, too, if

I plunge in again


[4th September 2009]

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