Silk tweed gray felt sable damask flannel
Glory of sharp tool be the lasting part of me
Plip scut slew slew all sounds fall still
Have you seen the fox? Which way did he
Go, he go? Hither and thither clean sheets
Clean sheets, somersault boundary for a thimble’s jig
Double-tonguing a syncopated flute
Listen sharply: the hues are parting
Sliding up and from the blazing center
No slake for hunger Of quick, of nimble
Two ships run together like quicksilver
Driven by a storm along the littoral
I’ve cut away the waste. Curved flay of shears.
It’s only cloth, whisper scissors in my ears.
Made out of lines from Complete Poems by Basil Bunting. New Directions Books copyright 2003.
Originally published in TINGE.