1.
a sculpture of melting ice
evokes the elegance
of your face

boldly
you rise from my inner canvas
like ancient architecture
rediscovered

2.
a flurry of tender brush-strokes
summons the beckoning lines
of your supple body

luxuriant fields of wildflowers
suddenly surround the walls
of my castle of thought

3.
as the trembling landscape
of the present crumbles

nostalgic rivulets of silver and jade
transport me to an island universe:

here all that remains
of the space-time continuum

is the sweet coo of your voice
and the cool crisp glow

of midnight snow

The Sound Of A Teardrop Distilled Into Alien Ears

the faultless sun
sure shot us
an indecipherable gaze
that day

we drifted to the
atmosphere’s edge
naked

like an orchid blooming
against the defunct metal
of an orbiting satellite

we were left stranded
on the rooftop of the world

where regret pools
in wailing shadows

yet
together we formed Pterodactyl wings
and flew away on thin sheets of skin,
the prehistoric wind brimming
with the fitful sleep of ancient matter

2. Her Superior Genetic Architecture

she
a black-skirted spaceship
hiding in the glare of the sun

stepping lightly down
from the clouds

the brightness of her face
swaying under the slow-churning skies

beneath her
doors creak open
in anticipation

the brightness of her face
swaying under the slow-churning skies

the world greedily swallows
her rings of ambrosia
in savory lumps

leaving nothing
for the scurrying insects below

The air around me blows
like static --
water rushing
on a porcelain countertop
full of both memories
and feelings.
weeping roses cover
my nostalgia for better times
but the noises!
oh the noises!
***** at my brain and force
me into staring at my own hands.
Quite small, they look
in comparison with what I believe them to be.
Humming  and whirring strike
the darkness around me.
I can't believe this used to be home.

One. I ask my Dad what day it is, again. Two. I had a nightmare that our block of flats was exploding whilst I ran away, do you think this reflects my fear of the virus, doc? Three. Chocolate porridge at 2pm, maybe its a bit late for porridge. Four. I think I accidentally chucked my propranolol tablets into the bin. Five. I take a bike ride round the village and I get intrusive thoughts about knocking over old people, on purpose, for fun. Six. I’m back to the flat and the ceiling looks like it’s lower than usual, did I grow a few inches? Seven. I can’t remember the last time I saw Emma, must have been when she cried in Wetherspoons, someone crying with you is better than no friend. Eight. My breathing turns shallow I think, I check my symptoms. Nine. I imagine dying of it and look back at my twenty-five years like a montage and get really overwhelmed and then I start to watch an old Mickey Mouse cartoon on my laptop. Ten. I just spotted a really plump pigeon outside. Eleven. Is this how hamsters feel, trapped inside with a few things to stimulate them. If so, I’m so sorry Martin (my old hamster). Twelve. The frustration sets in like thick molasses filling in the grooves of my soft brain. Thirteen. I turn to drawing and just end up sketching a huge mouth swallowing a rat. Fourteen. It’s bedtime and I settle down with a book. American ******. Patrick just killed a dog and it set me off sobbing. Fifteen.  I close my eyes and wish for a better day tomorrow. Is it going to be Tuesday or Wednesday?

It's not death or dying am afraid to see.
but that I do not want afterlife to be eternal.
when my pale dead body is facing up, I want but nothingness to see.
I do not want consciousness to behold when I cross life's drowning sea.

Uninteresting when folks have death experience.
maybe they come back to comfort us that are here
explaining what is real, and not the confusing conjecture bandied on it's fence
or maybe injecting fear and setting our hearts at ache for the coming furnace.

One will say 'have no doubt, adios, my friend, be in panic.
there definately is a spirit world.
Their world is as realm as ours is to us tragedic.
we are the ones sleeping for they know what we do but not aware that what they do is percific.

Glorious amounts of melted chocolate
swirling swirling swirling

Globular deposits onto sliding sheets
shining shining shining

Guttural phonetics of the gooey frenzy
smacking smacking smacking

Let loose a symphony
Let fall the curtain
Intake the stimuli
Real is uncertain

Your mind is a toy
Inside folded parchment paper
That once it's unwrapped
You can never reglue