Lynn and Hun’s Porch


In the city of white,

The streets are wide

White and low,

And the sky

Hangs wide

White and low.

And Lynn waters his flowers:

They grow,

Like wild jungle creepers

To mumble of the show,

As cars rumble slow,

And children stumble,

And old ladies grumble

Over what they know.

They glow,

Gliding through the night

In the wide

White and low.



That sun

Draws breath

And slips back into the white,

Thick white,

Soup white,

Squatting on rooftops white,


Squashed white.

Oh we can’t hear,

Though the noise is thick as white.

Oh we can’t see,

Through the white,

Through the white,

And when I feel,

I feel only the white.

All colors have been absorbed

So why isn’t it night?

An absence of color,

It tastes of white.


Categories: Selection: Early Years

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