swinging in the lilac flowers
listening to sza for hours
forgetting my ivory skin is solar powered
shedding my old skin before i devour
every moment on the horizon
succeeding no longer trying
law of least effort, divining
law of impermanence, time not wasted on crying, trying to cling
driving, light is dreadfully dim
but i keep my finger on the pulse
feeling the moment

i would love to
be able to identify
a bird from its call
or the shape of
wide-spread wings
as one flies overhead
in theory
it may seem impressive
but if i were to
successfully distinguish
a chiffchaff from
a willow warbler
based on the patterning
and colour of
its plumage
or the shape
and length of
its tail feathers
i struggle to think
of a single person
who would respond
with more than
an indifferent
mocking or
pandering "oh"

this bowl can still
be repaired
even if it
seems broken
irredeemably
even if its pieces
have been trodden
underfoot
further ground down
in an effort
to recover those
scattered fragments
as unlikely as
it may be that
these edges can
be jigsawed together
aligned once more
it could simply be
a case of
embracing the cracks
that might remain
filling them
with something
to be marvelled at

Because I don't have time
I just like to waste the day
unwashed in a bathrobe

Being myself, at home
in my city bunker -
in front of the window
that mirrors on the outside

If you fly past it
you will see sparrows
being chased off the seed
by ducks who then flee

from the gull army
which has hardened its beaks
four times in the gastric acid
of the Duck family

I am safely offside
and what I don't like
I erase from the screen

I hesitate to

address him, so intensely --


wearily he smiles.

Talent was not worth it,
Until it turned into skill
Rise against the odds
To go in for the ****
Thought it was supposed to be silky smooth,
Thorns in a bed of roses lay still
Hate it for the un-nerving truth
Victory accompanied by a sunken face
And a broken tooth,
What once was
A mountain to climb,
Now within my reach
The peak of ascent
Toiling along the way
A threshold to breach,
A view so spectacular
I could live there forever
Alas, the only thing worse,
Than an incoming frown
Is the dream I was having
Of getting to the top
Without ever putting a foot down,
A ghost of perdition
A drunken semaphore of
Nihilistic fortitude
Scarring enough to even put
Any effort in the journey,
Thinking all I had was
What I ever needed.

Sun on the roof edge,

underneath we sufferlead --


our cold shadow lives.

My aim in life
Is to transfer myself
Into an Art

Or may be
Close to

She said

Finishings can be
The hardest part
In these final steps
All the craftsmanship
Has already occured
The finishings are
Mere inevitabilities

You must
Come to terms
With the idea that  
Perfection is a
Necessary goal
Precisely because
It is unattainable

You must reconcile
Yourself to failure

It's not perfect
You have to make
Your peace with that

How?
Well..
You lay out
Your tools
And you
start again