Albion, Art, Books, Trickster

Moccasins…

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Moccasins… Strangely… Are the things which spring to mind… Most readily… For Mog… Snagged on… Springing… To mind… Now… It’s not a metal spring… One can be sure of that… Because that would make it a metal mind… And minds aren’t metal… As everyone knows… Nor is it a seasonal spring… Obviously… So, it must be a well spring… From which well… Do things spring… To mind?… From the hearts well… The heart has strings… But only when someone manipulative… Wants to play on them… Otherwise… It springs… Into the mind… And sings… You sing from the mind… Mum said… Really?

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You sing from the mind… But only when… The heart’s engaged… Beige Moccasins… Maybe Mog was an ‘Amerindian’… In another life?… Maybe it was just… Fashion?… And maybe it’s not… The heart… But the memory… Which sings… From the mind… After springing?… Maybe heart… And memory… Are linked… Like time and death… If you’re going to bring something all the way… From one life to another… Then Moccasins… Are an acceptable choice… Fashioned properly… They are made entirely… From the body of a host animal… Does the body retain any of its spirit with which to walk the earth?

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The car which was to take us to Manchester… For our rock concert… On the night… The world turned white… Got stuck at the bottom of Mog’s road… Mog lived in a house at the top of a hill… Down which… The car just about made it… Before… Getting stuck… How did it get back up?… Days later… Presumably… We considered the train… But Gramps wouldn’t let us… Then Bill came round… And made a snow angel… In front of the door… He had plastic bags… Tied to his hands and feet… The girls are out… He said… But it was way too cold… Better… To stay in… And nurse… The end… Of a dream.

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