Another one I am handing in toward my degree
and this is tranquility.
Cottonsmoke lightfalls break
upon lilac-stoked dirt patches.
Far from staring mechanisms,
from mute artifices,
velvet oaken mysteries whisper
silhouettes behind Ordovician veils;
still dew bejewels the root
beneath lichgates of fungus cast darks.
Far from symmetrical domiciles,
from cuboid fires,
violet Deer and mythical Badger alike
mal-remember straight-cut paths
to favour elegant fetid stenches,
and serendipitous chaos.
Far from blinking logic boxes,
from right angled portals:
Sprawls the gnarled fallen throne,
a dense silvery carcass
Olivesoot shades and sweet leaves
rotting before the nose; beyond the eyes.
Far from the linear parallels of asphalt,
from the scientific rigidity of life,
this is luxuriously pagan,