Change tops sameness with minute scrollwork.
Implacable days, the mind’s vast territory,
proximities, wondrous others;
life peopled with the frisson of ***.

The street, polished by shuffling, shines like old silver.
The sky gives leaves a new green
and as if for the first time beautiful
brickwork glows and the houses, the graffitied factories

that come and go between stops,
their ugliness is beat down
by late blooming trees, out there
and on the bitumen stations.

1
Get very small, sidestep time.
You are so much more than any organisation.
You’re a rushing into the valley,
a drawbridge of feeling.

Steal the fire
and when it all goes wrong
and you crash and burn,
get up as if nothing happened.


2
Warmer for the dark,
cars doors open,
the promise is there.  
Guitars made for the song.

We're the fire’s bracelet.

Ah, the often sounds of night.
Mist lies low on the river,  
trains stand at the station.
This joy and no other
as l laugh, laugh,
and make my way home.

3
Such are we,
surrounded by absolutes,
our minds always going,
our emotions ordered by minute dualities
into all the exquisites of desire.  

Too many steps? Too near the edge?
People clash, trolleys on crazy wheels
going every which way.

Sweep away the debris.
Away with mementos.

It is a new devouring
and when the remnant wake and discover space again,
discover air,
mouths will gasp like fishes out of water.

There'll be no noise and no rejoicing.
The too astonished
will look, stare
and turn to one another,
reaching out.