Dear Reader
I write to you from Stonehenge
Salisbury Plane
Where five thousand years ago
pre-historics moved stones
heavier than a lions ego
to this circle to tell the months
or chart the universe
or slaughter the living
never dreaming of
gift-shop
or even England
They don’t let you touch the stones any more
modern humans chipping off souvenirs
like it’s the Berlin Wall.
I have the Berlin Wall
re-assembled in horseshoe circle
in my back yard
put together from bits
I’ve chiseled off of historic sites
around the world
Every night I dress in secret clothes
and run from one side to the other
cheering
I’m free
I’m free
I’m five thousand years old
I’m English field full of oblivious sheep
I’m driving the A303 to London
I’m a spinach pie
I’m layers of clothing
I’m black woman with yellow jacket
I’m heavy rock
lying down
on holiday
married to history
I’m free
Twenty minutes to the next bus
Swords in the forest
Umbrella larger than life
Second floor transportation
I am Ringo
I am Charles
I am writing you from Stonehenge
Kiss all the babies
write back
see you soon
