Dream Poem, 15.12.21 And as I lay and lened and loked in the wateres I slombered in a slepyng, it sweyved so merye. Thanne gan I to meten a merveilouse swevene That I was in a wildernesse, wist I never where (William Langland, Piers Plowman, Prologue, ll.8-12). In mid-morning’s half-sleep, roses grew amongst jumbled rubbish, a varnished wooden structure curled into the sky. Sharp concrete lines bordered dull grey warehouses of corrugated steel – a collage obscure, rigid, blank and blotchy – Still Life with Ginger Pot 2. A bald man with thickly-framed spectacles approved of the vision. (He told me so over a telephone call). I woke at eleven to sluggish remembrance and gulped water from the windowsill in flecks of soft sun.
WILL RANDELL 5
