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...