Yeates' rooks rise from their burning nest of sticks spin against the evening sky still blue then kamikaze into the crowd of locals watching the news the great man pulled alive from flames of his own making it's the art and state it's the very similitude of poetry.
Meanwhile someone watching the World Cup dazed with possibility streaks across the ground pursued by police who as they run can't get out of their minds how ridiculous it is why isn't the whole crowd naked?
Mentioned in dispatches Alexander the Great while still unfamous runs a gauntlet from trench to trench.
It seems like a good idea at the time.
These heroes distract us from the task at hand.
Which is threading something through something till it can be used as directed on page 47.
Unnecessary conundrums.
Like banging your head on the X-ray equipment and having to be X-rayed again.
Or forgetting the universe as the orange juice trickles down your chin.
Or parking someone else's car very carefully. Very carefully.
If only I could express this adequately in verse.
It would not be an entirely unsatisfactory outcome.