MORE BLUE PANTS

crystal morning/winters laid resin over the field.
daft dog dynamos dart
across
the
sparse grass and white dirt/no bigger than my boot.


burnt bacon breakfast in the corner cafe/i'd brought my big book.
cremate a cigarette in the clear cold cemetery


then


walking 


home


between scarecrow allotments with black smouldering compost
smoking
over
the empty fire station
i
see abandoned blue pants white with frost
crumpled
on
the narrow
path
behind the rented terraces and oiled hatchback forecourts.
a muscular monochrome super cat
regards
them
with 
blank eyes.


we both wonder what happened here.


and at home in the new chair tv on i find s coogans mouth 
too
obscene
and
power down/loose myself my worry and the whole morning
in
another cats glazed emerald gaze.
shines 
and
glows. 
no blinking. 
silence . . .


i think what music to play and of
saturdays

list of survival and tasks.