10 August 2012
A wave of wood and motor oil,
Chippings, nails and rust,
Hay and blades and old, used grease,
Sunshine and sawdust,
Leather, ropes and harnesses,
Sweat and slight, sharp rose,
All the things one cannot smell
But which still play in your nose,
Dancing motes which curl around
Each single strand of hair
And linger for a thousand years
To remind where you were,
Kisses from Pandora's box
Where we can run and hide,
Where we can stop a little while
And think and yawn and smile.
If Shakespeare Were A Damn Cowboy • Opuss № I