may 2020


...already, even before I was born

I had retreated far into myself


into some naive, cavernous symmetry

that nonetheless was quiet and safe


where all the urgent yapping that waited outside

had no access


and so here I have stayed ever since

an unfinished animal


awkwardly holding on to its cave

looking out, watching, anonymous


hoping no-one will notice

the unborn me


the hidden me

still frightened by every moving leaf


an eye made from secrets

that will never reach the conscious world


the streams reading my thoughts

the dappled light playing at espionage


the clouds debating my existence

I was an anonymous gift


a  commitment, a promise never made

almost a part of something...







...somewhere through the mist a voice calls out

so what, it says


like everyone

my narrative has always been a cover


an endless cloud of icons and syllables

all jostling for adornment


for some minimal life

on one abandoned planet after another


my tongue has tried them all

but clearly there is no place


even in the dirt of the universe for justice

and although my veins slowly fill with the truth


I still need confirmation

I will still seek out a refuge


a cover where my tears can flow freely

to this unrestrained music


to these syllables

calling out across the world


a narrative

pushing even further into the mist ...







...all over your hands are whitened scars

each one a sonnet unleashed


a paean thrown at the sky

this song of the black dog


curled at your feet

the irresistible image


of a man staring at himself

counting scars


smiling at his own loyalty

his own transformation into a dog


a beast whose teeth fit exactly

the wounds in your hands


your soul has even grown claws

to dig at the infinite


at all this existential noise

curled at your feet


the irresistible leash

the script beneath your skin


even the verses around your wrist

cutting their way out


are transformations of blood into noise...