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

SKY, NAIL & THE MEAT PRISM

they even pry loose

the wobbly nail

the workers

hang

their

home-time

salt-of-the-earth

coats

on

~

& the sky today

is

just

grey

like an open old man 

its the dish rag of ages

a ragged halo glow

burns eclipse slim

round the frayed edge

there just 

for the just born

to see

~

they draw you in

then they draw it thin

its the meat prism 

strange mail everday

from worthpoint.com