Flying Leaf
Flying leaf.
Tuesday I´ve looked in my kill list, but couldn´t find
anyone to drone today, yet had time for the betting
shop and won ten euros on a horse called Abdulla.
In my trunks only, I went for a scooter drive; country
lane a woman came out of her dwelling and crossed
herself, yes I look like an overcooked vanilla pudding;
but no need of her to throw pebbles and set her
poodles on me. Why do I end up in the wrong places?
Once was waiting for a bus taking me to Garston and
it was raining; I have forgotten what I was doing there,
I remember a black woman who gave me a sunshine
smile and rain stopped. Still Tuesday and I have no
assassination list ready only memories of a life where
I was torn from the mother oak, drifting in the wind
poem by Oskar Hansen
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