STATIC AUTUMN

the one allowed coffee is the BOMB
and
the books i'm reading are harsh as WAR
so
i look about for lighter reading 
and 
fill my new red teapot with wild lettuce leaves.


the berries in the garden like 1000 hanging planets
and
the
damp
washing
that wont dry under weak november sun
holds little sadness now/glowing light in its striped creases
sways
slower
than anything - MESMERISING like the drifting
universe
of
morning dust in dawn light creeps round the caesarian curtain
and
the fallen splats of spider webs
SHINE
in the earths dew grass.


i spend my time laying still in the silent bed 
or 
sitting still on the quiet backstep
putting the kettle on
and
wondering which nothing next to do.