Night of dream storming

And so the rain beats comfy in the gut

Snuggled up in itself and rounded
Out like a loud joint creaking in the

Wind that feeds the curls of wayward hair
And births the life of thoughts that
Migrate like enterprising robins through

The ruts of energy that cool the livers over heated blood cells in a maze of

Wicked swirling craves that pace up and down the corners of the cell that sits in the final of the labyrinth seat of real truth

The collection of eaves that make up me that could at any minute exchange space with you or it or they that make up

You or someone and something else into a string of nothingness that is as true, although intangible like the feeing of a

Prayer soaked up on a day when pennies were raining, pitter patter, patter pitter, on the window pane.

Reality is not what it seems

Am I my body? Am I my pain?

Look back at a feint siesta

With nostalgia for a time
On the past that is living now but

Inaccessible to me

That is not a ghost but
A living thing as real as

The past was real at the time

Is now somehow breathed in the air of a
Future unsent but unsealed

That breathes back to me stranded here 

Constantly in the now that knows no limit
But can never be found as it 

Spins me round its vortex in

A hundred overlapping ways that cancel
Each other out in a loud crash as 

Silent as the big bang must be all these 

Years ago again in my mind eye.

What is it when we play the cello?

What is it when we light that candle in every digit of our left hand that knew no difference between the fingers before we stretched every one with that first song book, those first song-lines, 
A spider’s web stretched out along the page with flies caught on some of the rungs, some with their wings still in tact, some twinned up, some alone with a little speck of dust to confuse us. Twang

Twang they go as we see them in our fingers as we make them bold again in our brush strokes, strong, gentle strong as we throng together the little creatures on the page, back to the music whence they came.

Down and out

​I was eating pizza on the steps when

A beggar asked me for money, I had
None but offered him the other half
With artichokes still hot, but he said
No it wouldn’t feel right, and walked on.

And the next bites were sweeter and
Clearer in the context of his pain, the
Mozzarella soothed my heart as a velvet
Curtain richly slices off the ache of frost.
Lucky me to eat and eat outside out of

Choice, not at home, a home to choose to not be in, not to have to find a nook every night to hook my sleeping soul on, not to
Have to sleep on stone a sleep closer to the night than is comfortable, a public

Closure of my body, a performance to the
City of my freezing lung, not enough heat to snore, just enough to breathe in before the next dreaded dram of coffin-cold air.

Octopuses only have 3 years to live

My tentacles are crazing
My arms into submission,
My hearts march to the beat of
My heads’ drums rolling

Making me black as rock
As luminescent as the
Sun caught in a thousand coral

Spools, maybe just 3 years to
Trick minnows into raw death
Before I release each heart and
Head and leg back to the stark beneath

Oceanopia

Much dark and thick possibility so much sound

Shooting up like a rock from the seas with myriad

Layers, layering upon layer in dry notes that jag

 

Shapes in the clay furrows already layered above

The waves ready for you, your sound summoned

Up from the deep so deep and dark so dark and

Deep deep breathless deep silent blackness blued

Out with dark deep darkness calling you back

 

And pulling you up without tension is

A perfect curving swoop of free joy and peace

Without cessation floating fast motion rolling crisply

With sudden air bursting nobly, regal flare, to say

Blow rushed Hey to the Sun and the stars and

 

Their rays and the Moon and the waves and

The bright bright tight spaces dancing, tickling

Upper world before swinging back round to the

Beginning of everything and into everything

That holds food and fish and blue and

 

Dark and deep and low and teeming back

Black and back up above, to breathe

Like a wave a breath like the first. The first.

Bat Foot Stand

Upside down is a bat’s way up