Suddenly in the mercy of the Else.
Like a tantrum-child picked by
some Mamzel Hexempixel (or Miz),
taken aback: ‘She exists. The Beast.’
(Pre-)(Post-)Tremor. Power is shifting,
joins and separates. Grief:
non-forgetting, non-remembering.
Items trapped in the door might cause delay.
What’s there to miss? No time to explain.
Nothing left but the soothing speed
to replace lif-laffing around.
Turbulence sometimes is a balm.
‘Complicated how?’ asked the fox. ‘Just run –
not by being and then knowing
but by searching yet still becoming.’
I’m here for business or leisure.
You call me petal, I don’t give you a name
Agnes Marton
poemsinwhich.wordpress.com 