july 2018




...in my head I have created an island

a sanctuary of inhospitable absurdity


where atoms hiss

and equations and souls do nothing


but wrap and unwrap the same darkness

the same encircling ocean


that has been roaring inside my head

for four billion years


and although my island is secure

every incoming wave questions my existence


with its driftwood judgements and verdicts

none of which I dare touch


for they use a poison

that maims and kills only islands


hence I must keep a firm hold of the ground

even bury my face in the soil


so I can hear the absurdities

rising from the earth’s core


where the atoms hiss and roar

in unison with creation


the soul’s four billion years of darkness...






...could throwing lighted matches at the moon

really be the answer to this messianic bitterness


to this streamlined banter

that repeatedly insists on modernising genocide


arguing we need to keep on butting the walls

and snapping at each other’s faces


that we must keep on throwing flaring matches

up at the dark lights of the sky


because only this will sweeten the messiahs

only this will keep their cataclysm safely behind their teeth


but no matter what we do

the moon will remain as cold as ever


a primeval woman

with no appetite for mankind


and one day we will just vanish

as though expelled from reality


with all arguments streamlined

all answers inevitable


and everything on fire

the last spoken words flaring...