she searched for pleasure
ran through all the stop signs
and red lights
and lovers

danced in rain and thunder

a true believer in fate

and in a landscape devoid of whispering trees
i felt her heat

there's peace in madness
freedom in illusions

!laughter and love and neon lights
the visions and strange dreams...sarah

beneath the lids
your eyes grow fixed
on the edge of the dark
on the brink of the void
perhaps finding that elusive peace

(in the cold chrome handles of your coffin
i search for meaning)

Cold then hot the dish
By turns evolves a decadence
Of Death.

This blue green fungus is
Culture,
Renaissance can wait for
The Bloom of Dissolution to fade.

Hand dissolves in
Mind eye
And Survivors pick over the
Will of off-white Bones

****** of crows caw
And claw memorial at Westcliff prom

The Heroes
Mostly dead or
Dismembered

Whisper why on
Atlantic wind
West and why
Why

I know this woman well
from the curl of days
each day I write
a love letter to life
I strive to allow anything as
it is unfolds emerges
aliveness deadness blindness
foolishness fright ignite
the gloaming of thought
the expiration date for
the hade of dreams
I welcome every pain with a smile,
white hair and a glass of wine

this kind of love nested
in the voicelessness
of uncanny zoons
hues tunes lagoons
in the silence of soles
when you step so carrefully
not to disturb the unformed truths

pain love, neighbours
in the flow of synonyms
they taught myself to me -
the density of ribs
the depth of skin
the electricity of muscles
the tautology of heart
the logorrhea of thought
the temptation of beauty

moon is to blame
it hid its unforseen tales
inside the blueprints of
songs under the skin

coloring inside the lines is impossibly bleak,
with a hissing noise
atomic locomotive
rounds the bend,
extrasensory perception is not
a mindless gift,
it's a train station in the clouds,
tracking all my starting points to you,
nothing in the middle,
nothing at the end.

you leave in opera
with secrets and grievances
under the radar,
and your ready-made
wings catch in the power lines,
you're coiling like smoke
in the arches of my cathedral,
a sense of elegant decay
while sweeping up the debris,
committing arson
with the paraffin of my temporal lobe.

yesterday's fairground waltzes,
ghosted lullabies,
and woodland hymnals,
set in a context not of
resolution and closure,
but of contradiction and assimilation,
break the bond,
away they float on purveyor belts,
one too many molecules,
one too many departures,
always on the surface of everything,
nothing in the middle,
nothing at the end.

Strange how suns burn out
Tired of the light

Emerging from the Cave

Sunshine

Blinking
Drops form

Blue sky

Deep breath

Freedom