…The Attic (I) Thoughts about Animal farm…

You’re so chatty, it’s unbearable.
There aren’t words, but you’ll find them eventually.

From there it’s a bit of a blur really.
You’re constant– you’ve always sort ofbeen around.

Didn’t see where you’d come from, or where you’ve gotten to.
Always kind of meant to, just never quite got around to it.

You’re blinding, it’s annoying, actually.
You’ve always moved with colours following your fluidity, and whatnot.

My, that got away from me for a second there. Geez.
What was I saying again? Wait, no. Don’t help me!

You’re tending your wounds, and I was never really conscripted.
It urks me some, but what doesn’t.

If I were to sum you up in three words,
Those words would be silent, but meaningful.

Softly, softly.
I wonder what you’d say.

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…Flights of Fantasy (IX) Your loss…

first light

From the ground I’m all ears
Or so it appearstread softly
Legs stand ready in defence
Surrender what is found

The sound surrounds
What might contend at rest
tends to fend as best it can
Contended, it too must end

Ears and soil, and Earth
Birthing anew through sinew & sound
Quick to root, quick to ground
Until it is out like a light

In absence

Guard your marks
Gild your transgression
Release your relative ease
Keep your possessions

Sample your prerogative
Speak all of your mind
Pad out your prognosis
Its your patent I wont find

Nowhere gets lonely  — And so we must police it
You’re not one when I’m only — That as tandem, we must piece it


I’m at a loss, and so I release it
xo

…Flights of Fantasy (VIII) Everything must go…

No returns

Your divinity is lived-in
There’s a mark upon serenity.
The fire-sale can begin
Anything but the vanity table.

Conscience Make an offer
Loyalty, if you can find it
Goes with all your clobber
Especially with patience to wind it up...

I don’t know how the mug got in there…
That’s not for sale.

well-being’s a bargain.
Intention’s seen better days.
The bric-a-brac, like hope and that…
left over from my convention days

Few scuffs around the edges, mind.
The virtues could use a varnish.
You’ll find the peace is missing some.
The sanctity’s all tarnished.


Anything can be good with garnish — give it time.

…Flights of Fantasy (VII) The Other Wrist…

The after-care special

I’m at a loss.

So where then do you find me.
It’s a fine cap you’ve feathered, boss.
With your subsequence behind me.

You knew me well, you started.
I suspect you fobbed along.
A rhyming scheme imparted.
Your recall, very hop-along.

And brazen, in brackish waters, you slip and you slew
What a to-do then, that you were the one I needed
In order to get through it all. My insides on the outside.

Catch me if you can.
Around you, I couldn’t catch a cold.
But you’ll likely not see me again.
Quit ‘yer caterwauling!!


Be for it

Fall away, there’s nothing left
Call off the day, the time’s bereft
of all you’ve known– you’ll come to see

she’ll let you think that you are free

Freedom is a choice– given one
you’ve already given up on yours
Fall away, back in-line. It’s gone

how to be two, not leave one

Exhale, it’s not a failing. You must fall short
When not exhaling, avail yourself of the support
Sharper focus, of course — Careful reminder

she was behind you, waiting for you to find her

Out-of-order, fall to the border
Your catch-and-release program awaits
Afford yourself the restraint– failure to wait

he’s right behind her, never to find her


strawberry fields do not pluck themselves

 

…The Middle Ground (V) Hardly the time…

20150428_141627Interesting creatures
Adorable features
Unsure of their roar
As they howl ‘neath the bleachers

Speaking of seating
wherever their reach is
Keen when in breech of the peace
Just so long as it pleases    20150428_141642

What color should the third verse be
…Are you kidding?
I didn’t write a third verse.
There wasn’t time.

…Flights of Fantasy (IV) This time round…

How do we go?

i. Careless care-packing– not what I’d asked for.
Better, actually. Noodles. We’re nowhere if not stuck in a dorm.

Interesting shapes and textures all in all.
Just the distraction from the tables and chairs
In delicate sprawl about the dining room.

ii. Stand ready, men.
There’s a soldier in your ranks after all.
And when he’s through with your stomachs
–he’ll start on the rest of you


20150422_201947


Drop and give me ten excuses.
Stop when you’re half-way through —
This was a drill.
The real thing is much less recognisable.

iii. Hand-prepped words.
Peppered wisps, about poultry puffs of smoke.

Mine has no interest in being cured.
Now leave me to my madness!
Loose Women is on.