The unanswered grumble

How will you spin fermented want into a poem? Doesn’t
ugliness propagate inside a clever turn of phrase? How can

you return to the place where it all began to go wrong? Don’t
understanding and awkwardness have different half-lives?

Can you imagine holding the sea to account? As if the waves
have learnt to settle scores with the daytime moon? The

unanswered grumble, one within the other, touching,
scratching, screaming: Where the hem of the sky brushes

the water, what is wet? That cloud, that cloud, that masks
the sun now, what was it hiding before? When desire burns

itself into longing, when waiting for nothing is still waiting,
how long does night walk before what walks is morning?

22 thoughts on “The unanswered grumble

  1. A stunner from the first question. I think part of the human condition involves tormenting ourselves with questions that have no (or no satisfying) answers. But we will still ask them even if we know we are waiting for nothing, as you so beautifully put it.


  2. Beautiful poem, interesting questions and great images like ‘Where the hem of the sky brushes

    the water’ and ‘When desire burns itself into longing’


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