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with each small fish
intent on staying
put in the pummelling
current gasps steeped
in a local fracas
of oxygen
clumped suds
& home cooking
it's only the river
as one of the great
German Romantics
or maybe David Byrne
once pointed out
we get another booty
in the same
confusion every day
the Philosophers' Way
engulfed in mist
well at least today
is on the short side
& we can't see the trees
or wood for the word
WOOD surrounded by
& crammed with burrowing
mechanics but soon
the wet welly will dry out
just like a po-faced poem
on a Sunday afternoon
in one of the classy
colour supplements
ramping up the nuclear
deterrent & chipping one
onto the green while
whatever throws itself over
the edge of the world
like memories living in
the gut especially
that one with its teeth
clamped around
a virtual bone
in the middle
of your mind
of the old car
spinning on the main
road south in that
unutterably late
or early hour
Heidelberg, December 22nd 2017