I close my eyes, I breathe deep and air inflates my weary bones.

As I exhale I try to focus on the moment. The moment I'm living in. The hours that are porous to worries from the past. Life's episodes that cannot be altered. Except in the the continuous role play acted out in my mind, to put right the regret.

As I inhale, breathing life into my lungs, I'm told to control my attention. I'll admit, control is one thing I don't have. As although fluid and never ending my attention is often running short. Concentrate. My future lays dormant so leave it be.  Though my mind wraps itself tightly around the possibilities.

As I exhale, I focus on the body that has remained strong and healthy, the self-healing heart that has been put through its paces and a mind that is overly critical.

I open my eyes and as the sounds around me crispen and the smells around me awaken and the sun light floods my pupils, I realise. Why allow myself to consume the present with worries from the past and future.

Life is fast and beautiful. And it's now.

Tussocks of grass
Root thirty feet deep
And gather sand
Windblown from Africa

Dunes form and
Desert spawns
Pleasure beach

Naked bodies frolic
In surf and soak
Up sun to crispen skin

Barren clime-
Fecund activities
The soulless feed
The soul and
Cycles revolve

Climates evolve and
Globe spins and rolls

Unconcerned

Autumnal equinox of a long season standing raw sun
Sweating drips become ripe
As the bottoms of watermelons do
Lying ripening swelling
Swaying feel the stem
Tighten become draught
I turn
Sway in the lengthening
Days
Like an old woman
On a wooden porch
A Hand fan and a flowered dress
In an old oak rocker
Lean
To one side
Redden
Brown Crispen
Brittle brittly
Spin in one
Great fall
Off
Down I spin now
Now alone fall
Fall to earth
Dissolve
And how else
Should life
Be

My forte is putting thoughts on display like a portrait
Life’s exposing poor traits that people portray and cleansing poor tastes like sorbet
When I push pages with my blunt blade I upstage it’s abrupt changes if you got a good name off an upgrade
I keep firing down my targets like a gun range
I no longer associate with bitter terms I just hold and wait... to drop bodies from my desk like Mr Burns
In written terms
With rhythm added
Brilliant nerves
All systems crashing
Critics are cryptic just to crispen their cash in
It leaves my vision in fractions like there’s a chip in my glasses
You’ll shock yourself if you thinking is static
Progression is winning in practice
Synonyms are encrypted patterns
The devils in the details like criminal plannings
Keep these deep thoughts about
It is criminal plannings because they’re always tryna draw me out
I’m pulling ahead but I ain’t pouring stout
This path of mine is spent thinking in silence like a mastermind
In life it’s either mass or mind
It’s rare to have both like hermaphrodites
I’m the iron type
Explosive
Dynamite
This is the biopic thriller of the psychotic killer
Passed out he thrives off the liquor
The taste is so bitter
Why do we bicker
Argue over twitter over which girl is fitter
please start thinking bigger
Life goes on and we can’t stop the time it isn’t a race either but you always cross the line
That’s why I ostracise
Even though I need to be occupied
Only got a dozen choices like pocket dice
These guys stop and hide
So on and off like office lights.

Summer, let me have Summer.

What once were the lush greens saturated in little stars now eclipse themselves in the spectacular distract of this new blooming fluorescence.

Why must one worth so of envy so be brief?
Brief too as any one leap of intoxic bliss before snuffed mercilessly by a gravity vengeance.

Now, I abandon myself.
An exhausted onlooker gone to capture the light, left now in the pitch and the cold,
Looking on as our fateful blooms crispen, shiver and die, leaving behind a disgorged skeleton;
It’s forked bones petrified lightning clacking amidst in my starved exhale.

Branches bare.
Branches of sorrowful recollection and bitter regret,
For this claim of springtime flowers was but a sly herald for my greenery deceased.

Summer, let me have Summer,
Though I dread it’s attention.
Such fresh green leaves would forever be spoiled with the poison memory of those flowers.
Of that conniving innocence.

Summer will never be enough.