FAR FROM THE TUCKSHOP QUEUE

us kids numbed & agog

who unzipped their coats 
to catch the blow & sail

of parkside autumn wind

are accidentally now adults

in a rush of penumbra

& the jumping blur of it

far from the tuckshop queue

THE GREYSCALE LEAVES, FRAG POPS

under the same sky
where warplanes fly
i walk the pale dawn

agog & grounded

kicking the greyscale leaves

~

its a terrible wonderful world
& we are safe we think
on the western islands
in our bells of mist

~

now the fire in my knees

is extinguished

by wading thru

the soup

in the hall

a trail like smudged pencil

i imagine as my wake

AGOG AT THE HIGHWAY

look the febrile universe
in its indifferent & piebald eye

like the ants we are

agog at the highways

pandemonium & alchemy 

& carry on carry on 

toiling in the cordovan soil 

we have worked

& poisoned

& paved 

smiling in the mad grace
we demanded of it

& 

weeping of it

the same