bees busy hum
like a distant
stock-car track
neighbours unknown tool
ratchet clicking
like steam punk
the traffic wash
is invisible grey waves
in the rush hour rip tide
a lawnmower
electric and
disappointing
bird talk like coffee beats
in a living wicker cafe
a call and response echo
of soft maracas
~
so i write what i hear (see above)
out there on the chair
spilt
tea
on
my
bare feet
then i am still - OVERWHELMED
by
natures
detail
and
its
quiet huge
green bugle
scream
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