HYPNAGOG MUSICS 3 & 4

3

innocent alfresco diary

of
wild meadow freedom

shrinking away

shrinking away
from the ache of splendour

4

the invisible miracle

    decorating clocks 

    is music

& the fire of youths razing

left me out on the stones

husked 

HYPNAGOG MUSICS 1 & 2

1

the glass people
in the telephone hole
are timely saluting

an iridescent magpie
in the maudlin mist
of hospital hill


2

the tactile ache
of times balustrade
hurts like whimsy

well
beauty is an augmented riot
&

age a manicured dish rag

DEAR DIARY

the masonry of the town
boasts silently
by deign of its protrusion

& my black & locked samsung

is passive aggression 

writ flat & blank & lithium 

~

dear diary

today everything 

is humblebragging at me

& it all pulses with ego 

what mad sickness is this now ?

PICASA MADRIGALS, RUM DIARY / TV EYE

DIARY WING MIRROR

the past is an oil painting
i
blur and
smudge and
exhaust 
into 
expressionist cubism

with
my
exit
gas
and leaving dust

~

and i 
feel sure 
the frame 
was 
fine wood

but now
it looks 
like 
ikea plastic

thru the
overnight 
spider web
spun on my 
diary wing mirror

pic from gravimotion.info

POMES

FIND MEADOW

where is a great empty space 
a space
where politics is irrelevant 

antarctica ? 

with herzogs aztec king
and lovecrafts 6 foot penguins 

anyway
my mind conveniently left me 

the birds shat onion grass under the apple tree
and that bee big as a golfball that got inside 
well i got him out again

and
i
wrote something 
something good enough
something worthy enough
to read aloud
in a soft english meadow naked all the way to space 
coloured with nodding buttercups and patchwork dairy cows

i called it wire in the glass
i called it the veal and the chicken
i called it the moon men from mars

i put a note in my diary-
find meadow it says

then i count the bruise shades
in the killed grey sky
waiting for the streetlights to come on

theyre new lights theyre white now
and out the front round the sunflower fence
it looks like theres always an oncoming car

from nationalparks.gov.uk

RESIDUE

now is now
then
its
gone

sitting here in a workshirt
  crinkled and creased
  like i pulled it from a dogs arse
  i
search 
for the glow
in
our
residue

now is now - now is HOT
then
its
gone - cooled
  and 
  tucked into diarys / stashed in the ice box
  with 
the spilled peas
and
tomorrows
casserole

from onlinestrategy.ca