And me here in Edmonton…
I think a little tightening might be possible, but the picture is clear…
Doug
> On Nov 4, 2015, at 9:10 AM, Max Richards <[log in to unmask]> wrote:
>
> Stanzas is what reached me in Seattle.
>
> amused.
> Max
>
> Fixed
>
> Two white rubber thongs, one right way up,
> the other right way down, size three. A metre apart.
> Fix, the thong brand. In between, a pair of pink
> leopardskin knickers with black frilly lace edging,
> discarded in Doctor's Gully.
>
> Two weeks later, the tableau remains intact,
> grass making some inroads on thongs, slaters
> congesting on cotton. Retrieval now unlikely.
> Funny; did hear a distant halooo back then
> echoing up the gully. Triumph in the glen.
>
> bw
>
> On Nov 4, 2015, at 1:24, Bill Wootton <[log in to unmask]> wrote:
>
>> Thanks. Andrew, Pat. Not mine at all, Pat. I take a size 8 in a thong.
>> Sorry lines don't line up. Should have been two five-line stanzas.
>>
>> Bill
>>
>> On Wednesday, November 4, 2015, Patrick McManus <
>> [log in to unmask]> wrote:
>>
>>> Cheers Bill a glimpse of Oz life
>>> Just wondered were these yours?
>>>
>>> -----Original Message-----
>>> From: Poetryetc: poetry and poetics [mailto:[log in to unmask]
>>> <javascript:;>] On Behalf Of Bill Wootton
>>> Sent: 03 November 2015 23:02
>>> To: [log in to unmask] <javascript:;>
>>> Subject: Fixed
>>>
>>> Two white rubber thongs, one right way up, the other right way down, size
>>> three. A metre apart.
>>> Fix, the thong brand. In between, a pair of pink leopardskin knickers with
>>> black frilly lace edging, discarded in Doctor's Gully.
>>>
>>> Two weeks later, the tableau remains intact, grass making some inroads on
>>> thongs, slaters congesting on cotton. Retrieval now unlikely.
>>> Funny; did hear a distant halooo back then echoing up the gully. Triumph
>>> in the glen.
>>>
>>> bw
>>>
Douglas Barbour
[log in to unmask]
Recent publications: (With Sheila E Murphy) Continuations & Continuation 2 (UofAPress).
Recording Dates (Rubicon Press).
Done in by creation itself.
I mean the gods. Not us. Well us too.
The gods moved into books. Who wrote the books?
We wrote the books. In whose dream, then are we dreaming?
Robert Kroetsch.
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