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.