TROUT   [4] 

David Llewellin [1, 2, 3, 4,]
A Puff of Dark Grey from a Pipe
  And so how did it all rise up so slowly  
these sentiments just  
tail-lights blinking on the back of a truck, a  
puff of dark grey from a pipe as it gears down -  
an innocent enough export of fumes  
from a body in motion, a body  
in motion in this mind. A tortuous, grinding ascent  
from insinuation to fact.  

The words which we come at each other with filter,  
thicken, sometimes spit back.  
A kettle to the boil, and a hand too close to its spout -  
too much time spent sitting out here on this deck  
watching that truck crawl finally to the top and indicate that it's  
out of this junk. Over the rail cold coffee is  
tipped from a cup.  
A casual disgust at myself, how do I find such  
poison in the innocuous?  

   © 1998