Thursday, 3 August 2017

dust cake, 3/August/17

meanwhile somewhere that's not here a world is happening...
but I'm here....... unhappening.........
..... struggling to find words among the wind.... perhaps I'm looking in the wrong place.... maybe they are strewn about the house in nooks and crannies..... maybe mice have nibbled them...... maybe ghosts have hidden them away with their mischievous ways....... I could follow the trail of crumbs but when I do I always find myself in the kitchen where the trail curiously runs out.... of course, crumbs, kitchen, makes sense.... except....... like footprints in the snow that suddenly stop and go no further these crumbs of words have done the same........ they lead me here, they lead me there, they leave with as curious a stare as I could muster..........
I thought I heard some scuttling under the dresser....
but I'm not falling for that one, who would hide words under furniture when there are perfectly good drawers and cupboards for that........ I even checked some balls of dust that gathered by the skirting, the one the broom forgot to sweep, the ones that got away........ it's not a job for everyone, teasing apart dust that at best is good for holding only orphans, scribblings that slipped off a page in the midst of something far more literary to give them a second glance.....   I knew they were there, I could hear them....... hear them but not quite make out their.... words....... no matter where I went they never got louder or quieter, clearer or opaque........ they just hummed away oblivious........
.... I found cake
......... I ate cake
............... perhaps the words can wait.


© robert greig 2017

1 comment:

Martin Kloess said...

perhaps...
...perhaps the cake is a bait
...perhaps the cake is a reward