seems we have not been to all the mills,
never will. some are gone, yet we have seen them.
seen things that are never there. lost our way,
if there ever was one?
there is a book, we did not buy it, perhaps
a need to find out for ouselves.
it has become a metaphor, a place to be lost in.
he said they bolted the looms down, we disagree.
write the words, she says
it is a drop in the ocean, and cannot
help those already lost in the ocean.
it was said in depth we drown, and so
it is so.
we cannot rescue the drowning, record the names.
so we draw dresses.
black dresses do not sell so well.
reading how the body works, you
will have a better understanding,
yet they do not teach of peptides
they teach of clever yoghurt in adverts,
i did not know microbes fancy food,
move our choices.
it seems we are not in so much
control, perhaps that is why
we like routine.
i read a lot yesterday, then
mowed the lawns and went
yes, you can get used to it.
even that. it is a frame of mind.
it is not a problem, if you think that.
we heard the looms working at the top,
so ran the stairs to watch. they are loud.
the finer cloth is sent to scotland to wash,
it smooths the fabric, tightens the weave,
makes the pattern stronger.
think what you like, the mills continue.