…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.


…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.

…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


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.

…The Middle Ground (IV) Meta-fields of Engagement…

20150422_192904 20150422_192924

In a fallow breath she captured his eye.
Imagining in a moment, a blink in his disguise.
The sound of the drums didn’t reach quite so far.
And what of the poet – Nevermind.

Spotter at perch, etched just-so.
A shadow of a shade, of a shot.
With all she has– these words are met.
‘How could you use a poor maiden so?’

In fallow breath, perhaps your last.
Ready to act, or steal your sight.
‘Tis child’s play to seek, but to hide?
Only the mark, and the marksman would know.

— the seagull? oh, he was just there…

…The words turn about the axis (XVI) Ties that bind…

Up in armour.
What first, not to harm her.

Tremble in flurry
Through furious fastenings
Tremulous fallen. Leaves as their trellising.

Clamour, arisen- the need must.
Captured, sanguine. Misty-eyed.

Driven doured not in absence of snow.
The class has much to teach, and is never still.
Forever more.

He beats a hasty retreat
A task not yet completed.

Bitter at his breast Attested
Bated breath on the burrowing breeze.
An arrest not yet tested.


All that begins is unforgiven.

…The one you can’t beat (II) “Cloak” & “Dagger”…

For the moment, the beat goes on–

Daisy Chains & Strawberry Fields

[*c-] …Sexual tension?
When all the bits and pieces fall away, it boils down to respect, doesn’t it?
Who wants it. Who’s not getting any. What’s the quickest, easiest way to get as much of it in as short a time-frame as possible without the need to feel embarrassment or shame.

When I feel a chill in my bones, and the cigarette is lit, you might look cold– There’s me, a pace or two in front of you with the wind at my back.

I didn’t say you were hot. I certainly didn’t say you ‘looked’ cold. There are times, it seems, when it’s not what you said, but how you said it. And nobody said anything about the ‘verbal’.

It’s interesting to experience sexual tension in 2015, as opposed to pre- 2nd millennium gender politics. Technologically speaking, the ways in which we refine our intimacies, and their substitutes, we’ve…

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