A Wooden Bench, Evening

May 11, 2015 § Leave a comment

He sits

Atop a wooden bench

Holding a half-smoked, hand-rolled cigarette:

The smoke swirls of which wind in the wind

Upward, through a tall, well-leafed tree

Towards an immanent crepuscule;

The bench is perched to one corner

Of a circle of native grass that sprawls outward

Etching its way towards the trees,

Which replicate into oblivion.

He says: « Read the rest of this entry »

Topology of Spirit

April 22, 2015 § Leave a comment

I

Situated above the body and looking down
It is possible to see the way that things are

Unorganised, as it were, the site maps
A slow-forming casual consciousness

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The Golden Age

February 27, 2015 § Leave a comment

I

Of television: life and living.

 

It’s true that our plumb jobs start early

And that we’re late to leave

But my god

 

It’s the Golden Age –

Of television.

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A Ballpoint Pen

February 26, 2015 § Leave a comment

A ballpoint pen glides

Across the paper

 

A fresh white sheet

Torn from a notebook

 

Blue ink slashing

Its emptiness

 

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Scratch My Name Into the Feet of Statues

February 23, 2015 § Leave a comment

Scratch my name into the feet of statues

Around the world; write me into being;

On the spotless walls of the avenues

Re-scrawl my name with love everlasting.

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Tin Can

February 16, 2015 § Leave a comment

A tin can rattles

Across the tram floor

Spinning the red can

Rolls towards a tram door

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Pass the Rosary

January 3, 2015 § Leave a comment

The men line up outside the tower; one by one they stand

In single file, in ghostly light, they pass the rosary

Without words, nor looks, but pomp: the beads move from hand to hand.

 

Ceremonious exchange conducted in roguery

With just the clock tower, and its knowing minute hand

Tracking transactions and glowing above in rhythmic glee;

 

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