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THE TYRE
(…)
Being more in tune with the feel of things
than science and facts, we knew that the tyre
had travelled too fast for its size and mass,
and broken through some barrier of speed,
outrun the act of being driven, steered,
and at that moment gone beyond itself
towards some other sphere, and disappeared.

Words words words. On whiteish sheets of paper. Why am I struggling to extract even the slightest bit of meaning from these poems? I mean, the man's the bloody Poet Laureate after all. Doesn't that imply some sort of ability to communicate with the masses....or me at the least? Okay I'll plod on but this reminds me too much of school and the sense that it's doing me good but what good I have no idea.

Stressful. I am worried about the dog.