1984-87
Previous post 15 August
Crane flyTipulidae
First flying sounds of shaking paper,
then gangly Tsars flapping flickbooks,
my fumbling hand catches
the dog eared fling crows feet.
I had one fine leg pencil line,
my hair nets the restless left
softly landing prayers on my neck
with paddling wings
whilst tremoring legs on walls
search for old stories lost in the corners
until ceilings knock them back
like fine rattling chopsticks
balancing wings
with piano playing legs
they teeter around shadows
stupored by the bumping boredom
dabbing the bed of uncertain reason,
their silhouette line
caught in the spiders web.
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