Grapes in The Mist


I


Things
I observe things like lobster red
It’s a colour that is swimming in circles Passed back behind and between


II


White, shaving foam Can be used
To shave your face 

Unfavourable places 

And hairy centre of town

Pleasure cruises 

between Standing positions


III


Several scissors
Can say
‘‘how long have you been hanging around here?’’ with precise,
they shallow say, with open circles
that get penetrated through human fingers when they are needing use

they put me here because I don’t fit
im new
can you see I’m sitting awkwardly? Silently left with silent arm gestures That do
Not
Move


IIII


I am two or three

Grapes in the mist
They let me grow here
A place I now call
The only thing I can ever see
Because I’m so
And that’s all
I am ready to be eaten by the next flow of tourists Ill make it for desert but no sooner Breakfast
Is too fast for me to arrive
I have meetings all morning
For ten is too early
With brunch and all


IIIII


This one day Some people
Put paint on me And I cant get rid of it Without their help

Its like someone putting clothes on you That you didn’t choose
And you can never take off

If they drew hands
They would have allowed
A change to change
But change is fruitful
For the fruitlessly challenged Like
Us and they Including me


IIIIII


Many people underestimate the power of corner It’s a way to round it offYou know
The joining
I tell people when to stop touching me
By my angular back
It’s had another casing over
My coat
No one touches me
When it’s cold
So the winters are lonely for me


IIIIIII


Someone put me here
I know I’m not a real dog
But an image of one
But that doesn’t mean I’n not a dog I am representing dog Presentation,
God, spells dog backwards But what came first
The real dog
Or me
A future pile
And ideas fallen
As I still sit
Wait
If you ask me
Im perishing
But some people see my death A beauty
Its sad to realise

The rotting of my organs For being seen
But it happens to all of us Eventual rot Decay
And left

Disposed
But unlike humans
I cannot be burnt
But moved around
Until I reach a new place to stare at Behind consciousness


By Alexander Norton 


http://cargocollective.com/alexandernorton

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