Monday, 30 November 2015

Urchin Stomp


All my spiral nights
are made of
really fresh charcoal
lotus on my
chevron
sophistication
cling slippy
illuminous
soda
stations
my ceiling
doesn't work
motorcade
acting up me
acting you up
lime 'n' lemon
cats eyes
cortina
can we get
any hotter
moth shadows
are sun
manna flame
hyphen
un-static
mandala
satin bound
hypnotic
crescenting
night box
scry out
the bird frame
darken
veil over
silver
time difference
bare foot
second hour

 

 

Sunday, 1 November 2015

void


the empty space inside

tries to force

a fade out

detaches from the spaces between

are more real

than what they tell us

is solid matter

cerebral sensitivity fails me

not for the first time

and my own rough ride

is a dead end

and fades into nothing