27 Nov 2017

To the Dead Bird

You’re what I felt closest to this week.
Flattened, still, unrecognisable against wet stone,
you had a familiar look of dejection on your face.
Tell me, how'd you get up from there?

25 Nov 2017

Like Circles Have Corners

How wrong for a shape not to fit
the slots that suit, assigned by masses
most comfortable with the one and zero,
what’s black or white, here or there
and nothing in between.

You are. You simply are
chaos and multitude,
burningly bright sky,
passing storm, dark little wave
on a sea of the forgettable.

Always Returning

Black river, soft shore
where scents mingle by rising
nape awaiting warmth.

Not knowing water
the gentlest riverbed rests
between sweet hilltops.

Opening up, field
is hesitant before that
fire sweeping on down.

Like this oasis
gives life, I offer myself,
rain falling to earth.

The air is soundless
for the breezes of content
over midnight bloom.

8 Nov 2017


Desperate, parched,
he tries to find footing in
a landslide new world.