june 2019





...I do not trust these mountains

they are war machines


things of stealth

eyes that see yet cannot be seen


and these snowy peaks

they’re just deceitful contraptions


hiding thousands of suitcases

stuffed with human souls


so why should I now trust the sun as it rises and sets

when every night it releases these hordes of orange-red bastards


who, without fail, come

and lick my hands and face


until I am sodden with their dark saliva

and now, now even the grass and wind


have been recruited

as spies and informers


with alpha-males now claiming me as their own

with priests siphoning off my sanity


and yet despite all of this

despite the clairvoyant distrust


something has touched me which itself cannot be touched

and my loss is irretrievable...






...just suppose it was true

this myth of beautiful words


this last of all ultimate dramas

to whom would it matter


who has eyes that can see into eyes

the sphinx stares into the depths of itself


and the chimera has its universe of mirrors

but there has only once before been a silence like this


a fly in the sunlight wipes mankind from its legs

and suddenly, on a dune, a sheet of sand slips


so, if not beauty

what was it that pushed these boundless colours


this vanity, these myths of logic

to repeatedly drive nails into the ground


who then has eyes that can see into blindness

into this horrifying ego


life’s edges may already have begun to fray

so perhaps it is this yearning to know


who or what is waiting at the door

is it just a troubling swirl of dry leaves


or something more...







...too often I have seen the fire in fire

the terror from which I am made


this burst of incandescence

these lying, treacherous atoms


delusions that have lain frozen

to my heart for centuries


and now I have become so small

so destitute of warmth


that I am unable even to pause existence

to see what it is I am


or how I have become this monstrous nothing

this primate imprisoned by eternity’s tricks


from beneath the ocean a strange smoke rises

it is the smell of treachery


of yet more delusions

bursting into life


and when the oceans catch fire

it is certain mankind has played its last card


the night ace

against which there is no call...