march 2018




...herein lie the fragments of a thousand centuries

strange, audacious sounds


words, words for anaesthesia,

words for glory, for secrets, anecdotes, spells


even for angst

words for anything which can charm thoughts


from this dense mass of air

where even utterances can fool our curiosity


and yet, irresistibly, still prowl the void

in search of fragments


those minds that constantly

call out from the grave


forcing books to disintegrate

in our hands as we read


lured, yes, we are always lured

by this strange, feverish audacity


that makes our faces glow

and the rains turn into laughter


whenever we squeeze a little immortality

out of each and every guttural sound...






...often I look for the meteor, the arrow and its art

for the unexpected rhythm


the four, maybe five, notes

of some dark, diatonic dance


that slams my whole being into a wall

and lets loose a deepening truth inside the old


a raw light that firestorms

cascades and breaches


the cold frontiers of my mind

setting heaven’s empty thrones ablaze


and as the meteor’s flames move the darkness even closer

their art takes human form


I am the son and the daughter of no-one

I am the meteor’s child


the unexpected arrow

the dust blowing out to sea


a rhythm that slams

a wall ablaze


a vessel for whom the truth is never enough...






...our love needs no deserving, no identity, no forgiving

for no-one has ever, or will ever survive its cruelty


love is surely just a foothold

a bridge to that lethal world of uncertainty


standing beside the Rubicon

unable to turn back


unable to step across

this necklace of burning suns


these raging galaxies that throw out

edict after edict, which


five billion years later

is driving our species insane


standing on the bridge

waiting for love’s signal


a kiss that enshrines

the heartache and the bliss


those two cruel, burning uncertainties

who sit at fortune’s wheel


spinning it, tempting it

first one way, then the other...






...I have always walked and walked to find my life

to quieten the spectres


to savour the gratuities

but always, as I stride


enormous teeth have risen from the ground

and I have felt the world to be one gigantic mouth


a system of mere universal digestion

a meal at an empty table


that claims to recycle every conscious mind

and even more, to replace each living cell


with one immense, yet invisible star

that’s torn by vivid apparitions of unfolding space


by sights pretending to hold back the darkness

but, unconvinced, I keep moving


and push between the vast, dreamlike teeth

certain such things simply cannot be


what in that case, I ask, is the purpose of reality

to love and love again


to sleep and sleep again

or just to keep on swallowing the spectres


and walk, walk, walk...