like mountains that push their way slowly upward

fingers prying at the edges of frayed paper

tongues dry from ******* hot air

my heart beats in my neck and wrists

and i know



how one can cross vast plains on wheels of love

pulled and pushed towards an end

impossible and distant.

how one can lay spent, exhausted

doubting what is meagerly ours.

counting what is lost and gained.

living and dying as desert river
at the whim of the wheel.



like mountains moving by inches towards the coast,

nostrils flared by the acrid smell of burning life,

eyes red from looking and looking,

my flesh tenses

and i know



how one can settle to birth an immigrant wind

and change without knowing,

half way home,

the place and direction we travel.

our name and kinship,

perfect water.

until the final lovely steps

and we lay asleep in the arms

of our past.



like mountains falling,

tops rounding with time,

eyes focused on coming showers,

lungs full and clean,

my heart beats in my neck and wrists

and i know.



that this instance, this place, these hands and arms that

soon will rest,

shall work and make and design and drive

and i know

that this time was the perfect time

to have stood with you and carved our names

in the rock that is our history.

My keyboard must be faulty it hasn’t typed a thing
Perhaps I should report it maybe give IT a ring.
My pen is not much better it too is on the blink
It only works for doodling, could it be the ink?
My phones not taking calls now but every time I look
The handsets always managed to fall off the flaming hook.
I tried to use my mobile but the battery has gone flat.
The chargers come unplugged again, I must look into that.
My laptops can’t do zoom calls as I’ve left it in the car.
I could go out and get it but my driveway is too far.
Last night my boss informed me he may have to let me go
Something about my output being really slow.
I think he may be looking me but I don’t give a toss.
For I’m full of self importance so it will be his loss.

Not quite the ideas guy
Artistic
Creative
Is not my description
Of this
Cogitative
Projection
Of social pretension
Dimensions
Belief
From its schools of thought
Kept in suspension
For discipline
Listening skills
I neglect
For more cognizance of
Going deeper in
Depth
To the provenance of
The first inkling
Of being
And cogency gleaned
Between lines
That I’m reading

The Hope

In a poem I read
Trees are so green
The avenue was full of green leaves
fallen to the ground
Curled up, pale brown and dry
blown by the cold wind
I can hear a whisper
We are still beautiful
Within us, there is knowledge
of a spring to come

They come to me as whispers in the night
Though they don't strike at night
They catch me in broad daylight

Large hands that wrap around my throat
And they drag me back

When I try to run, when I try to escape
They grab me by the ankle and drown me in the dark and murky waters they reside by

They've made it very clear they don't like me
The people in my head... they don't like me.