but I'm bone dry:

Saw that pain smolder in my eyes, I kept it burning
until the scene could switch
and sand morphed into tiles
as a burst of sunlight filtered
from the surface to illuminate the words on

these old pages;

Flicking through a book in the deepest end
of a swimming pool, it is so tranquil
down here but now it's time
to come up for air.

I break the surface
and there are storm clouds
above me, it starts to rain as I get out
of the pool and walk away into the garden

soaked to the skin.

A philosopher is unable to question the value of philosophy
without engaging in it. Knowledge is a pleasure, and the object
of my love is bracketed by that question.

I am ashamed by my inability to explain this, this love is ineffable,
I can say it is true (even though that is a circular redemption).
Every reason seems bracketed by the unknown, seeming
to include the unknowable, yet I try to answer for this.

All I can say is that this love transcends the universe
and has left me behind, I feel poetry is the only way we could know

Went to a rave
under The Quincy,
With an urban campfire
going
and an ambitious young selecta'
playing danceable tunes from her decks,
A can in my hand, warcoat on my back, among
friends;
Down by the riverside
we were all under
the one bridge
raving.

With strange things at my back
I tread softly, wandering
to find déjà vu waiting patiently,
But you already knew that.

I wonder will I escape this view:
"...the viewpoint of absolute truth, [where] what we feel and experience in our ordinary daily life is all delusion";
But you already knew that.

I wander through memory,
Against a dark background.

I wanna feel your heart soak
in lake control,

Unreadable with
beautiful abandon.

Awake, warrior
who struggles; my dreams
spill over into consciousness,

The memory of a non-event has
me struck down with its realness,
Lists of hyponyms, this life hypnotic.

The moon forgives me for the issues
I did battle with;
The Oneiroi, Morpheus and Phantasos.

This 'wake oneironaut did not pause
to ponder at the gates
of horn and ivory.

Our lives are the purest form of poetry,
Each moment is potent,
We are the cosmos in motion.

Some people believe in fate,
I say believe in flourishing; ask yourself:
What doesn't matter in the grand scheme of things?