(no subject)

[proximoception]

A cake of grasses in a zigzag pit
Of concrete, sprinkled sensibly with ants,
And covering all the sight in all the frontlands,
Except parts kept by special dispensation
For blues to swim in. Houses only came
When housecalled. As for creatures, everything
Was creature, every atom hopped or crawled.

Feet flew, the liveried messengers of whim,
Knee-engined, always one step past the ground.
Forward we found was always slightly sideways;
Backward we spurned with nobleman's disdain.
As we were low, our world was vertical
In ways it will not ever be again.

The dark and dry interiors of trees
Gave good rest and good choice of what to pull.

Sometimes in the travels little girls
Would be there, with their porcelain pink noses
Running as freely as their buckled feet.
Their skin shone like the skin of lima beans,
Where shining, and where not was like them skinned.
Their legs were slightly thinner than legs should be.
Nothing could be as cruel as little girls are
With hearts of little boys, but who can blame them?

Sometimes jaws would jostle open, spilling
Our pillar of broad opinion in the air.