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218 · Jun 2016
Between Two Worlds
Mark McIntosh Jun 2016
faces grin from too much slim
& I try & I try
to stick tyres to bitumen
imaginary angels

float & judge & claim
to save but sell
seminars & books & arrive
in inexplicable palaces

where there's no chance
of access. the bishop spews fiction
Buddha knows
as I scratch & ink & I can't even

think he cares for desperate
shoes get the blues
& can't touch the ground
trying to fly

they all wonder why
these eyes are so distant
focused on
lost metropolis souls

screen dwellers
avoiding a sky full of ghosts
sages tell us
their truths

to take or leave & I
bite their fruit & swallow
it whole. spit out the
essence. where the juice

lies are real. nobody feels
how rubber treads without contact
how shoes last longer
how we stick to a grounding

tilling of dirt
plants sprout
flowers grow food
these muddy boots
204 · May 2015
Haiku
Mark McIntosh May 2015
something writlten now
might forever be published
because I typed it
157 · Feb 2021
The Abyss
Mark McIntosh Feb 2021
Into the abyss
I threw green blood sweat
dripping raindrops
other nightshades calling dreams
from improbable plots
I never read

The black gets darker before dawn
stars fade, the moon dips below the earth’s curve
from my obtuse window
grey shapes move into focus
today the sky refuses to allow
obvious sun

The sinkhole gets bigger from a certain angle
swallowing objects and plans
it’s always ravenous
stealing leftovers from my plate
emptying the dishwashing liquid
plates piling in the kitchen

Morning stretches into afternoon
Whirring of a neighbour’s mower
taming shoots
beheading the weeds that started to flower
after the last time
the manual fell into the depths

That night I remember
a day gone by when the veil fluttered
away from my face
clouds parted and a cylinder of rays
illuminated the abyss to show
how shallow it really was

— The End —