Losing my grip now,
and so gravity ensures
my future’s prescribed.
like a fleck of fresh dust.
How structure and design
now discards me;
to unearth odd ceilings;
calmly engage my feet;
At an aggressive speed
I was losing my way
I was feeling so alive
Seeing what could never be
The atmosphere burned red
And so I thought of what will be
…from now on
I noticed then what I never see
Chrome slithering roads and bloodied sky
With all moistures weeping in blue
Rolling, cruising, endless
On and over flattening mountains
This is what I’m telling you
Those slow buildings in green
I’ve finally found out what I almost lost
And sensed what I had never seen
All around while dissolving out
Through and into the Firesky!
Earlier, you found yourself at an edge of woodland; you stood at its beginning or its end, you couldn’t begin to tell.
Impatiently, the trees blurred together, all around you, trees branches holding others that spun ever wilder, entwining into an eye-shattering carousel.
In the loop, you do not know or fear the time it takes for the motion to slow, winding down, tired, the branches let go, clumsily flicking leaves at each other, like young children; engaged in dance, then distracted, but always pure and in play.
You, look around you with your peripheral vision desensitised, you were somewhere else, just left of wherever’s’ centre; you could breathe deeply, consistently as one; with a carpet of mimicking leaves.
Now, feeling so spongy underfoot, you’re subtly falling and rising, falling and rising in exact time with your steady pulse; you were now at the heart of everything.
When thoughts are all you think of,
and memories are all you make,
and when your dreams are all you care for,
what are you doing now? For goodness sake!
For a while, we were individuals, instrumental even, only for something to send us into an unforgettable crescendo; then our heat-beats fused and we flew, we actually flew over ourselves, circling, voyeurs looking down upon our uncontrollable laughter, not one of us wanting to land … ever again.
As the day passes before you, you sit longer than you had planned
on the most servant park bench.
Then, subtly, a lost shadow whispers into your ear, It says, shame about the
cats and dogs. You haven’t the heart to tell it that it hasn’t rained for days.
Meanwhile, time must be folding inward; squeezing itself until a residue from
a meaningful downpour leaps from your chin.
You remain seated on the bench getting wet, and as you do, you’re
unknowingly and repeatedly shapeshifting; into every person who has ever sat
there for exactly the same reason you do.
In a shimmering sea lies creation,
a wrecked city, a lost at sea population.
Provisionally, some strangers are made king,
so long as the shore-wind that follows does sing.
Now I can daydream considerably longer,
as I become the tide, I arrive stronger.
In a lost world, without soil or land,
many sandcastles are formed without their sand.
Then I see an overhead sign in neon magenta,
The Last Salty Sea-dogs Drop-in Centre.
A merman’s place but as man-made as a moat,
now is the time if on dry ground I shall float.
And to scribble from the teeth of a shark,
keep your mouth shut and leave before dark!