my way is in the sand flowing
between the shingle and the dune
the summer rain rains on my life
on me my life harrying fleeing
to its beginning to its end
my peace is there in the receding mist
when I may cease from treading these long shifting thresholds
and live the space of a door
that opens and shuts
***
something there
where
out there
out where
outside
what
the head what else
something there somewhere outside
the head
at the fains sound so brief
it is gone and the whole globe
not yet bare
the eye
opens wide
wide
till in the end
nothing more
shutters it again
so the odd time
out there
soimewhere out there
like as if
as if
something
not life
necessarily
***
Home Olga
J might be made sit up for a jade of hope (and exile, don't you know)
And Jesus and Jesuits juggernauted in the haemorrhoidal isle,
Modo et forma anal maiden, giggling to death in stomacho.
E for the erythrite of love and silence and the swee noo style.
Swoops and loops of love and silence in the eye of the sun and the view of the miew
Juvante Jah and a Jain or two and the tip of a friendly yidophile.
O for an opal of faith and cunning winking adieu, adieu, adieu.
Yesterday shall be tomorrow, riddle me that my rapparee.
Che sara sara che fu, there's more than Homer knows how to spew.
Exempli gratia: ecce himself and the pickthank agnus - e.o.o.e.
Samuel Beckett
