“But stir yourselves into alacrity, whilst I sit, bone and bared, struck out in sweeps of desert flesh”JULI KOSOLAPOVA//UNSPLASH

Shake the spine that shrieks with a

Million deaths of honour, you scathing

Beast blaming all the middle winds right through

My chest, whilst seconds reminisce.

In the afterflow

Of thought.

You could never live in the present,


Mountain View

The other side of window: a poem

But stir yourselves into alacrity,

Whilst I sit, boned and bared

Struck out in sweeps of desert flesh

Stuck in time’s rotating thought,

Wrinkles Lapping, showing the swim of lost seconds thread

Into bowelled earth and chiselled dirt

Dreams to fill a million spaces

But you could never reach

One of them.

Away, dust thoughts

With nothing to show for your meaning

No circuit to travel but the bodiless ghost

Whose bloods sinks in opal haunts.

Strapped in phosphenes migrating from one form to another

As I try myself, desperately, to be translatable in all

These invisible forms

And for people to books without words or utterances.

Be fooled by time’s weeping face

And my plea for lands more exotic than

my great ruin.

Away. Soon you shall be forgot for good.