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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required when they look into his mind they find a hill town somewhat surprised they go off to their learned books outside (architecturally) he’d seems a little wind-blown not special – a common sort of shackman by his looks not the sure kind to want the sun to get its hooks into his self-containment (his bunched-up notions) thoughts crammed like the heads of ripened corn in stooks who has a well-stocked feel – runs deep but no commotions cool as a many-crypted church at its devotions the learned books do say something about deception how when you pass him in the street his back is turned as if (of who you are) he harbours no conception so you (of him) though wary cannot be that concerned appearances appearances (its kudos earned) the book crows - being too aware of inside-outs knowing full well the volte-face nature of the scorned the dullest horses may best play havoc with the touts nor hillside towns dispel the speeding tourist’s doubts you have to turn off - want to know what’s their attraction to nose into narrow ways (climb through streaks of sun and deep sharp shadow - such a lung’s exaction) to catch a sense of busy life close to the bone worn tracks between doors (waft of voices) eyes in stone smells of food (enticing) splashes of unleashed wine water rills carrying old bridges (a faint drone descending like a bee-swarm) courtyards – a cool shrine a sudden market’s noise (a local-produce mine) and then the topmost square with church or water towers a dance of bustling shops and sparkling language banter and every crevice cranny bosoming out with flowers a busy-ness of purpose and a heart’s enchanter (the sun distributes gold – allows the blood to saunter) the bricks of buildings glow with centuries of nous as though the wisest grape best pours from this decanter both tempered peace and passion welter in its throes and fountain sprays refract what such life knows so with the man – whose innerness the world at large shuts out or rushes past (its own deep rifts demanding) but to himself (in that dark realm where he’s in charge) with all his senses geared to sapience longstanding there’s not a day goes by without his flairs expanding in every passageway his mind has set up stalls and diverse thoughts and voices do their blending so what that he (from outside rush and guff) withdraws he and the hilltown share each other’s stilled applause
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