Night scape

Mid night and the past flows in the stillness 

Silk images of the loved

In the silent house

In the breath of sleep

Cinni film flickers on walls

Flash on the ceiling 

memories of excistance 

The loved

Fully loaded

I sparkle my words

Into my mundane 

By curb and gutter 

By dump and sewer 

I gather the far away, 

Dream the distant,

 For not to be here 

But there among the hills 

In sun, at the garden gate Of paradise 

Far far away from Men 

with their gun metal minds 

Testosterone fuelled bullets 

an irrelevance of ego 

American Big Mac murder burger.

Fully loaded.

Reversal of entropy

Time ticks silently slips

Spills and pours into ‘where’

And ‘now’ lasts three seconds

And ‘then’fades and ‘when’ never comes

And never is forever

Then over the endless sea

The spirit breaths 

The reversal of entropy

Wind

The wind has come to visit 

Opening doors

Singing in the chimney

Scratching at the walls

Fluting the slates

And chasing the year to its wild

Blown out end 

The last leaf flying

Digital

My analog heart

My bio-chemical dreams luminesce in

the great green chasms 

Of the sea 

Far away from land,

Lost voiceless out in the heaving waves.

Unheard in their salt moment.

My digital soul is no longer real

But colluded  with the breezeless sky

In an instant it is beyond the

Fake horizons

Kitsch-cola-Pepsi eyes

Un focused in the screens serene depths

narcissus oblivious of my 

analogy me 

Breath

Between my liquid blood  and a hard place

The moving matrix of thoughts 

are as ringlets 

in the endless

Lake. 

Rippling out into the mist

So fragile . 

I read those around me

In the depth

And know the minds illusions and reflections.

I have breathed on the surface of the seeming

Regret it

I cannot be a poet because I cannot extract the sting, ruminate the poison or rue the day

or forget the thing:

your eyes distain

my blind affliction

and Hear the infinite 'no'

Looping over.

What happens to a face on which the lines of failure trace

What happens to the core that sacred Intuition graced?

The pith, the singularity around which I pivoted,

That I was so completely, utterly, devastatingly, wrong 

and thus fracked, flawed and floored,

For this one terminal act, will thunder down all my days to rust

And grind my artificial pride to  finest dust