I will make windows from your daydreams,
Assemble your loved ones,
By a body of water,
Hideous is dust to me,
There is a swank and a swerve to your
Outward ways,
He thought about this too,
Never much of a god,
A vessel for fragility,
Make plans of glass,
Raindrops anxious of the coming,
Stretched out and white.
Moments are dismembered,
Filled in with beating hearts and then racing away,

Your heaped whispers are soundtracking my hobbling days. Not all of your words landed so softly.

All creviced and doomed in places,
Everything under the blinking stars,
Blood neighbours,
It doesn't take millions,
To drool a river into existence,

Sometimes I feel like a dust-mite,
time will badly use me independent of my courage,
all of the moths I have ever seen are shadows contained,
A fine memorial for the nothing man,
layers upon layers if those layers could speak
caught tongues, blabbered words,
there is no way to be certain of anything but the weeping,
a collective of the unseen
I would like to cover everything in pre-emptive gauze,
prevention is the best cure for ruin,
shrouding my words in illusion.

Harassed light is cut and divided
coming of the day is decayed in milk,
the haggard moon is the latest unwelcome intrusion
Detached body parts are the new order of things
retracted senses ignore the smells of yesterday,
A quiet mayhem to each passing moment,
Each thought wrenches like sand under fingernails,
Settling into place briefly has no explanatory value.
Time is retracting wrapped in plastic,
Guttural cries the sea is a bathtub of regret
Formless burdens illuminated by the sun blunted and captured

There is no grander way my spirit of dissolution is lined with angel's teeth hands exploring,
indulging themselves bulwark of a new day's dream rigid of eye,
Colliding with mutinies as in the mechanical cavorting of creatures marching,
Past albatrosses appearing and hindering caffeine messengers from the ether,
Somewhere if not here aborted holding hands with disdain there are many ways to be anything.
words exchanged with impossibility are untied threads piling up until there is time spare to sketch them with morning breath,
preoccupation grandstanding efforts minds broken **** coloured dawn of convenience rigid and timebound,
all must inhale the earth smoothly

It started off innocuously enough. An argument over the correct length and shape that parsnips should be cut. Differences in vision over simple practical matters can quickly expose much deeper fissures. She felt compelled and her brain quickly went into overdrive; feeling consumed by a clarity of vision that she had rarely had since childhood. She opened an incognito window on her web browser and started looking at flights to Irkutsk, Florence and newcastle upon Tyne. All places she had a fleeting connection to. She updated her CV, and checked her eyes with a pocket mirror, noting that her eyelids had a slight purple tinge. She went downstairs to get a glass of water and saw that she was alone.