Shearing Sheep « Thread Started on Aug 29, 2009, 4:16pm »
Broken fluttering of falling farfalla, Quick lime mortality Cocooned in sub zero rooms, Ether clouds in the cutting dens, The karakul; Hysterical from sweat and shaved skin Subcutaneous wounds dripping in a rhythmic descent Leaking gutters tapping on empty petrol drums, In syncope, Kindred, Blood and water The Shearers move about in mechanical fashion, Flipping, flopping fleece laden targets. Clipping, cutting, bleating, budding. Springs ascent in woolen smock And cloven hoof. Masticating quietly, Impervious and innocuous, Numbness… or might it be enlightenment. For the shears only cut twice a year. And as for the rest, Green grass, and the embrace of rolling meadows.