Poetry about socks

Bad scene (the internal world) too tired to do anything worth while, it is now Wednesday even though the blog says otherwise. Have spent the day packing and preparing for our trip away, plus cleaning the room for additional overseas visitors arriving here almost as soon as we're back. The literary part of my life has fallen by the way side (except for carrying on reading about Naipaul and Theroux). Colette is very helpful, she's a dear.

The poetry I read yesterday, standing in Unity Books by the poetry section, was in another of Jenny Bornholdt's books, where I found a very good poem about the value placed on limbs that are lost, (presumably by ACC, but that is not mentioned) and comparing limbs and senses like sight to other losses, like loss of self-confidence. I can't remember exactly but it made compelling reading.
More so than many of the other poems which may be whimsical - like one about lost socks, 3 lines only on a page - but too thin in content. I want the poems to say something to me, to lift me, carry me to somewhere new and interesting. One poem had the lines arranged in a non-regular way, the lay out being an important part of it. I felt that I couldn't be bothered to pay thirty dollars for it. Or to have it on my bookshelf.

(Cricket: - How categorical you are, Suzannah, how sure of your rightness.
Suzannah: - It is true that if I could write poetry like that I would be very happy.)

I'll be back on the 23rd, or maybe before if I can get onto a computer somewhere.