ON WONDERING WHERE THE GOALPOSTS EVEN ARE

it is 

hard to
carry on
with this writing game
when i could fall face down 

all over the floor instead

& cling to the edges of the rug
swamped by the useless raving

of all the trying things

& the iron & blue & dusty jewel

that is our constant moon 

is gradually backing away

& i cant blame them

~

& on the tightrope

over the panic net 

i am trying not to happen at all

& trying to be like bracken or moss

like deadfall or a railway sleeper

but i do get up again

for my meatsock needs

 

& i see a bird in the garden
all the colours of oil

& i get on with it again

with writing this down

KEEP ON KEEPING ON WITH ALL THE KEEPING ON

 

cradled 

by milk & 

by bricks & 

by habit

a streak of

arch nemesis

hanging on 

the back of the door

skin turning

all the 

colours of

a rose

& a frayed string 

hanging

from the

plastic boats prow

TMESHARE DICE

 

playing
such
a long game

that 

not 

only

does it
look like
i am not playing

but i can

sometimes forget 

i am playing too

DISASTERING

cannot
fully
look
upon

our wretched condition
& rolling disaster

without me disastering more

~

i consult my volatile slab
of magic & deception

for any countdown delay
or its possible illusion

in the elongated

gout of the world

MATTERS

 

manipulating always
the matter all arounds us

breaking the atom

harassing the ore

i dont think 

the trees

like the view