Pungent odour of
moulting angel overhangs
disused breakers yard
partially obscured
down the lane, up Murmod Hill
below, derelict
workhouse, above, soon-to-be
ruins architects folly.
Hypnotic glaucous
light-glare shone to greet strangers
illuminates glade,
caved-in truck cabin
strangled with ivy creeping
garlanding twisted
steering wheel & window frames-
ripped vinyl seats a moss bed.
Easy to picture
furtive lovers embracing
there in the future
trapped in this flowering
deathly metallic bower-
vitals flickering
as insects & carrion birds gather
sensing a rare royal feast.
A canine-more wolf
than dog though sporting paisley
bow tie gives side eye
when disturbed sniffing
among stripped tyres, lager cans,
torn condom wrappers,
cold embers & charred remnants
of a long extinguished fire.
birds
Abandoned Building
Shuttered with padlocks rusting in the rain
Dislodged roof-tiles slowly slipping
Then sliding down to smash on the ground
Drops of water gather, pool, flood
Ceiling bulge, sag then collapse
Uneven floorboards warp & buckle
The long disused plumbing seizes tight
So the seasons pass in neat procession
As they are fated to do by iron laws
Birds roost on the rotting exposed beams
Mice scratch & scurry into dim corners
Dropping encrust the fixtures & fittings
Ten thousand things live out their lives
Within these mold stained leaning walls
Their picked clean carcasses eventually
Returning to earth & overgrown with moss
As the roots of trees burrow beneath
The foundations to recolonize their territory.
Red Shifts & Violet Viscosities
Stupid from sun & sangria We stumble across uneven cobblestones Patterned into equal portions Of blanched brightness & sombre shade Until stunned by the stillness Of a sudden Square Swimming in a liquid light Of a rare violet viscosity Delaying dusk & preternaturally postponing The arrival of night & the shattering of silence As the chorus of the cicadas Increases in volume & intensity Signal of an inversion of hierarchies A red shift of hegemonies Informing us that we are vagrant interlopers In the schema & order of things Just so many escaped cockatoos Perching on low level bars & branches.
The Sky, The Bird, You
Even the thought
Of looking up
Into that vastness
Always renewing
As to appear newly minted
Freshly washed rinsed & dried
So clear it is hard to see
With any clarity
Makes you lose yourself
Without the imaginary ballast
That you once claimed to possess
Adrift in an atmosphere
Of doubt & uncertainty
But you could never resist
The assuaging caress of beauty
So you hesitantly
Scan the sky that's empty
Except for one mobile black dot
Transversing the blue space
So at ease in the airy element
How you envy that bird
The seeming surety of purpose
Undivided nature
Unselfconscious singularity
Just itself & nothing else
But if you for a moment
Could stop looking
Thinking
Searching
You would realise
The endless boundless realisation
That you are both the bird & the immeasurable
Heavens through which it soars.
Alienists
Sometimes I am overcome with the suspicion
That I am a stranger on this earth
Descended from a peripheral order of beings
An alien on this planet come from a distant star,
Faraway galaxy, parallax dimension
Some shape of a castaway, convict or changeling
Perhaps just a forgetful idler who slept passed their stop
And shuffled off at the end of the line
But the trick is to be at ease
Of course I have on occasion demanded to see the manager
But that was met with shrugs and sighs conveying
Studied confusion, blank indifference or downright hostility
Nobody seemed to know anything and cared even less
Initially I thought well what is the point of them?
But maybe they were feigning ignorance
Covering their tracks, keeping secrets, hiding truths
About myself however banal they turned out to be
Surely you realise that this is not the way to go about things
I think we may have a situation
You are clearly not at ease with yourself and your surroundings
Surrounded by screens bombarded by images and text
Deluged with data indices statistics and factoids
Which I passively absorbed hoping to later sift and sort
Through the theories ideologies conspiracies and revelations
Perhaps somewhere in this sewer of misinformation
I can decipher a message from a distant dimension
A faraway star, a parallex galaxy my lost
Home that I fell from those forgotten aeons ago
You know we have ways of making you feel at ease
And you have, despite our repeated warnings
Persisted in persisting
You leave us no choice so…
You are at ease
You are at ease in yourself and your surroundings
You are at ease
You are at ease in yourself
You are at ease in your surroundings
You are at ease
You are at ease in yourself and your surroundings
You are at ease in yourself
You will be what we want you to be
Feel what we want you to feel
Say what we want you to say
Think what we want you to think
Be what we want you to be
You are now at ease in yourself and your surroundings
As long as I do not remember certain moments
Incidences or sensations that elicit strong reactions
Then I will be alright, I will be at ease with myself
I doubt it ever happened that I shot my cuffs,
Lifted my finger signaling for you to come over,
Bend over my knee and lift up your skirt
That only happened in my non-existent home
Vanished star, imploded galaxy, voided dimension
They have promised me that when I feel completely
At ease in myself and my surroundings
That I will be granted a vision of the birds of paradise
Descending down from the vast unreachable heavens
Onto these somnolent suburban streets and gardens
Setting hearts and minds ablaze with motion and colour
To carry us away toward a richer more vibrant realm
A distant galaxy, faraway dimension, parallax star.