'NEXT STOP, WILLOUGHBY'
Just an old, silly broadcast, probably played now
countless times on those endless loops of holiday
marathons and open re-runs - Twilight Zone
veracity. It's all of space : an open whole in Time,
through which I too have now already fallen. There's
not much in words for me to say : sensation does it
better, and I love so many things. A giant oak, standing
just outside my doorway; it's been there for years and
has grown as I have grown along. Magic potion, other
world. I know, sadly, now, like all oaks it will wither.
-
'Next stop, Willoughby,' perhaps someone will say to me.
The big moon is in the sky, the birds are in the tree.
No comments:
Post a Comment