august 2021


...can words really reshape the air

or replace humankind with a dream


or even this universe with a single vitreous eye

whose glances always become flesh


who then can honestly expound the truth

that wildest essence of all things


for there is a seam of quartz

which carries the imagination


and a vein of silver the heart

trust, they say, is an unimaginable gift


and so it is

because beneath these mountains


words are being hewn out

by beings without eyes


pages and pages of salt

that seize upon the dreaming mind


a pantomime, a circus

an applauding world


this seam of gold

running through the walls 


the unspoken essence of all things...









...what birds are these that sip illusions

from the eyes of ghosts


their beaks always open

reaching for the moon’s opioid blood


this flightless erudition

this endless wittering


that merely pushes the grotesque

from screen to screen


from one likeness to the next

this brave, mono-syllabled world


and I, the scarecrow, just stand here

in this empty field


my heart stuffed with rags

watching infanticide


phantoms, birds, blood moons

my feet stuck to the ground


stuck to this cheap deception

that I am still doing what I can


to taste the truth

through the mud and straw


that fills my mouth...





...and then came this hominid

caught in the cross-wires of some apotheosis


its knife-edged supremacy

a world swimming in semen


this cortex, this pith

that has never sincerely known itself


for in the falling hush of rain

there has always been


a strange benediction

an incomprehensible narrative


of how these supernumerary light-years

never let go of the heart


or lose sight of the cross-wires

those knives that shape the universe


this hominid, this inseminating angel, this wasp

caught in the act of apotheosis


splitting rocks, biting trees

closing slowly on the trigger


that moment when even the gods look away

and supremacy explodes...