voyeur’s throne

The heart grows fonder yet,but not for a face I've met,for its far from mnemonic streetsthat I'll find what I crave to meet: It's far from the Helios glowwhere I will sit atop old Pluto,free from mnemonic lament,merely happy, to be absent.

A sound arresting

My mother calls my name, for this or that, always the same, vacuum, sweep, some other chore, dishes, carpets, an endless bore, but end there will be, to chores and bores like me, and to my mother and her calling my name; a name, thereafter, never quite the same.

38 odd

Ezra invented Chinese poetry, as the French did Arabian nights While we make what we can, of cello sounds and bleary sights. Our pretensions no less sacred than the baked bread invent of the gandy dancer, chimney sweep, billy boy pinsette, catchpole, clockwind, eggler, hobbler, knockerupper, man lector, o leech collector, nor mudlark, nor powdermonkey, …

Der Himmel über Berlin

why am I I and why are thou thou why is that then and why is then now and is a star bright because a shadow is dark and is the sun rising to hear the singing of a lark

distancing

Happier hollow, deep down in my borough, than paled and skinned in the sun. Shadows, spaces, and all sorts of places for mould and fungus and fun.

Cartesian Death Rattle

Often solus, always ipse. Always ism, likely iugum. Ego sum, cogitavi, ergo sum.

inquest

How many times have I questioned the unity of life and myself, both scattering and mutating, through time and space? How many times do I question this surprised that I still can, yet reserve the doubt required to ask once more and once more? And how many times will I question, until I concede that …

Cavafy

Finish my book and love the world, leave the house with a merry word, to spring from grave like Christ on Easter and greet my sourfaced barista. But it all falls down when I do, the judging glance I imagine a clue; Have I badly good, have I badly sinned? And why does my coffee …

Perspective desirous

From one side of the sky to the other the plane will fly yet the movement of the gum leaves is scarcely an inch, but you would be amiss, to which of these make me sigh. And though the air hostess's long legs strut the aisle, it's the white smooth beauties of snow gum bough, …

solipsist convention

Between Action and Contemplation falls the light, by which I read at night, a buzzing bulb that sends me sleep, after prayin' the Lord my soul t'keep, but even there I am less than free from the shadow of cognitive theogony that nightly haunts ands haunting me, in my cell (built brick by brick) not …