[ .announcing,sundays. ]

[ .announcing,sundays. ]

is it
the wall of earth
the sunward facing starling
the blowing pine & branch
or the sunbleached rocks
that has all the earth
awaiting its next notes


© Bryan McLean June 12, 2010
079/100:2

[ .wash.over,me. ]

[ .wash.over,me. ]

out of door, the marks are lines now, running through the scalp, through the cloth, to the rushing skin, as the pulse harrows and hounds the purpose of the day, and as the clouds seed the ground, soaking through the fingers of grass and toes of roots, that are the seething earth, made of you and me.


© Bryan McLean June 11, 2010
078/100:2

[ .fade.into,the.background. ]

[ .fade.into,the.background. ]

swelling grey green, the late spring lilacs, humming leaves, all in motion, colour hums the numbing echo, shoes scuff pavement further, footfalls on the worn out path, as we pass each lark and tree, as the swelling deep inside, finds heavy homes in our thoughts, as the humming ground, calls to us, us speeding on,
into the grey green light.


© Bryan McLean June 10, 2010
077/100:2

[ .could.have,been. ]

[ .could.have,been. ]

hate to say
but every time it was you
when I was upside down
when I was turned around
it was you
it was you on my mind.


© Bryan McLean June 9, 2010
076/100:2

[ .the.working, plans.begin.to.seed. ]

[ .the.working,plans.begin.to.seed. ]

standing on the sea-saw bridge, the sky all fire orange, the dirty burnt cutlass still smoking hot, hands on the rail looking out, thinking the time is raw and ready. shovel, check. salt, check. barbedwire, check. swollen heart in pocket, check. four quarts of goat bile, check. radiator cooled, check. gas time, road time for the Oldsmobile, stomped out smoke, foot down heavy, and three hundred miles to go, three hundred miles are counting, on us.


© Bryan McLean June 8, 2010
075/100:2 dƏmons

[ .on,day. ]

[ .on,day. ]

it was quite pleasant earlier
now the palette has exchanged the
golden honey light & the
pallid blues dotted with
plane, bird or stick-winged bee
now swathed in grimy pastels
yet the swashbuckling cross of ships
built of cloud and vapour
give the shy sky the texture of life


© Bryan McLean June 7, 2010
074/100:2

[ .if.there.were.no.histories.. ]

[ .if.there.were.no.histories.. ]

would we strip the past
to make way for the future
or would we repeat the past
in desolate need to destroy our futures
would the sacrifice and suffering
of so many, of all, have been for naught
or would we rise past our differences
and move only forward
would our nature draw us back
looking for the histories we once held
does only the past define us now
can we not become something more
without looking back over our shoulders
would we still be as beautiful and grand now
if there were no histories.


© Bryan McLean June 6, 2010
073/100:2