there is something incomparably wonderful about falling asleep on someone else's sofa two weeks running...
and about homemade cosmos.
i have been trying to find the macneice poem i am going to read at the city hall tomorrow night but google has failed me and i am too tired to traipse downstairs and find the collection and type it out so here is another one you will probably know but sometimes the familiar is the most fantastic. especially at 1am. incidentally, the other one is called 'round the corner'. but here's to the drunkenness of things being various.
Snow
The room was suddenly rich and the great bay-window was
Spawning snow and pink roses against it
Soundlessly collateral and incompatible:
World is suddener than we fancy it.
World is crazier and more of it than we think,
Incorrigibly plural. I peel and portion
A tangerine and spit the pips and feel
The drunkenness of things being various.
And the fire flames with a bubbling sound for world
Is more spiteful and gay than one supposes -
On the tongue on the eyes on the ears in the palms of one's hands -
There is more than glass between the snow and the huge roses.
