december 2017




...ever since that first touch of fire

the panic of existence has never really gone away


there are still no solutions to beauty

still no arguments that can decipher insanity


the womb’s old angst is always there

a simmering black hole


a wall, a path, a road

to places where there is no freedom from hysteria


no respite from the blindness that sees only itself

the need to create something, anything


before conceit takes over

and demands one answer for everything


and if the sun’s light can indeed twist our bones

even override our thoughts


then maybe this is how we became so pregnant

by soaking up too much of the sun’s conceit


nevertheless the smoking holes in the ground remain unanswered

unanswered and unable to set existence free


the walls, the paths, the roads

bending towards fear


and the beauty of fear...






...with so many fading, falling leaves

life’s gamble has always clogged the gutters


but today armageddon is a luxury

a visionary’s all-time, silent story


of a world, a language that once drowned in itself

in the unsurpassed roar of all its syllables


a tale of how the little drama of our consciousness

was downgraded to that of a disease


somehow laughter and sleep had become the same thing

and the cries of the universe suddenly seemed too close


too similar to our own

so that no-one really knew what or who was in distress


and yet the dice were still rolling

the gods still floating in a ditch


and unknown to anyone, the thoughts and feelings

of our beloved bride armageddon


spilled from the drains

out from the world’s great carotids


the sleeping arteries

so much luxury


so much drama

so much of nothing...






...once, at night, I roared

at the unbreakable, bastard stars


I screamed aloud at the gas giants

to get out of my face


for hours I railed against the fractious, defiant enormity

of this most bitter charade


it was a destitution I could no longer stomach

in every direction I turned, the poverty seemed to belong only to me


and so naturally I went on to demand the ultimate

the arrest of oblivion


death, I thought, would finally swing

for all its insatiable, cruel thirst


but that is not what had angered me

no, it was the fact that on a planet of billions


I had been left alone

to face the most inexhaustible solitude ever conceived


an end far more severe than dying

for I now understood that all this time I have been marooned


castaway on a patch of microscopic reality

that, awkwardly, has never and will never exist...






...whatever the outcome, the signs, the nights

the rumours will burn their way across the fields


and beneath the smoke

the unsettling, existential rage


will live on forever unwrapping the earth

forever trying to extract affection


the echo of el mole rachamim

trying as ever to heal the unforgiven world


this dazzling cliff-face with its sapphires

emeralds and gemstones that terrify the mind


a strange, unrelenting moment of sexual gravity

that tears down every test of logic


we all are rumours

outcomes of rage


we are the wildfires falling from the cliffs

the nights burning with terrifying affection


the unforgiving people who have set ablaze

every word within our reach


we, the unrelenting gems

secrets wrapped in earth...