Light
is everywhere,

it is everything

mirroring off rock,
demolishing
ambit

cat pawed with downdraft,
blustered by gale
the channels scud havocs
of pyrite,

The sky, huge
an impossibility
of blue, defies
description

words are formed
tried and retired
tossed
on a blather
of gust,
unlistened.


A syrup of larks tongue,
-an ash of a song-,

Is all that is heard
on the day..

Is
not
these lines
just written,

nor
is it the
length of time
it took you
to consider them

Now,

is but
a slipstream,

a continuum
of reverb

a synonym
of echoes

in our vanishing
of space

When I met a girl
called Trixie

I knew
The World
was Godless

Her second name
was "Smith"

I had prayed
it would be

"Hobbitsies"

I
kept
dead flowers
in a vase

they
reminded me
of you

Rarely
can I make this
whole thing sober...

Historically
my tendencies repeat

The overbearing drudgery
not drug enough,
to satiate,
an Oppenheimer heart
diseased and dazed...

Descend/Ascend
to keep me keen and craving,

my acts of upshot mummery
beget the beg of cleansing

Unpack
the hounds that call me
by so many other names

Let them run
me down to sweet
disintegration

At the zenith
of sartorial sloppiness,
frittered loosely in my scruff,

I clobber,
combats, sneakers,
faux-fur coats and baggy t shirts
stuff that wraps me up,
and I'm OK..

You can keep
your first- world
judgement

see
I've always
been this way

part scarecrow, hermit,
vermin, pirate,

all at sea with
modern stylists.

                    

And by the circle of our
strange unwritten rules

for a season, once in twenty years,
I, somehow, become cool.

In the future
they may scrutinise
the age we mislaid wonder.
Evaluate the epoch
of our long-forgotten grace

Landfill
for the Burial Ground

Trolleys
for the River Gods

Spray cans
for the Painted cave,

and say,

"This,
is when they
lost their way"