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.
I hear Morocco pulsing
In my feet and Hong Kong
Twinkling in my throat
Montserratian and Barbadian lapping
Ears over to New Orleans,
Rolling down to Acapulco
Further down Columbian greens
That heard my father’s
First word to the world
Now I’m flying high above
The deep giant squids and
Corals, fighting and fading into blue
Back to Europe, Corfu
Familiar pieces of the jig saw puzzle
Curling at the edges, many missing
Do of it what can be done
With what is left, before
Some breeze, dog or toddler gusts it apart, unthinking.
Broken beats cracking
The ear drums,
If they didn’t miss
Round about the heart.
Woken sleeps that
Wait the slide
While thunder hoods the
Noise that quakes the eyes.
Sorrow skims the
Of knees that let shins
Grief that hands won’t clean.