slowly at first like a crocus in spring breaks the ice

it shatters the land's surface and inhabits that spot where there was only days ago the white coveted earth.
the petals are shut but the suns lengthening gaze warms it to the pistol.
the silver life in its veins charges like a geyser and the sublime shivers.
there is a grove of beech beyond the rocky field and beyond is mountains snowy and distant.
there is a steely blue sky above and beyond there are clouds wispy with a grey weight that drags them across the craggy rocks and down into the valley below.

endloss sleep on the turbid waters neath clouded moon

fragile baby dreaming with little clenches as the dreams ripple through from neverwhere into the physical plane of now.   Ripples echo the halls and river caverns and the roots of the trees soak up the tiny threads of life.  winds restless and growing push in and swirl around and the colours of the street outside tremour with the mottled sun.  satan in inside with me and waits by the window smoking a cigar and drinking cheap cognac.  The smoke curls up and tugs at the blind before being snatched out the window into the glassless boundary.  the wall is a little white and tape appears at the edges where draughts taper into the permanent matt finish of melbourne, of melbourne, of melbourne, of melbourne, of melbourne, of melbourne, of melbourne.  living la vida loca
joi de vie

caetechu and the island of souls

crush in the ancient gallery as the faces peer up from the stone and wall around and dusty light flickers and cascades from a hole in the distant ceiling.  the faces lidless keep watch and every footfall echoes down and along the corridor.  In the distance there is a dreadful drumming, a monotonous throb that rolls the sand beneath me.  waves of the sound echo and shimmer around me bound by the earth and the stagnant air.
I push on into the darkness and follow a winding staircase down, into the belly of the mountain, following the drum and its hypnotic snare, bound around my spirit and walking me, into the valley below.

tired eyes in the holow scul

the flesh is still peeling out at the kiss of the lime slaked and raking fangs across the folicles.  All music is broken and re-assembled before me and the black and white memory is an italian passer by.  Pedestrons on a sidewalk that seem to know me better than i know me and know me from a passers by opinion and their little thoughts and words and that it passes back to me makes me nauseaous and changes my opinion of my opinion of my grace and my race onto the train goin my way.


al i really care about it the silence in the space between my heart beats where all illusion drops to the sides and where the bass drop in some of these tracks.  Death the surreal skeleton hunched in my slit eyes and chasing my shadow to get close to where i am still.

still.

christmas in michigan

an island of a kind forever
and ever into the night
upon a lazy afternoon
we set out to the light

with a broken back and shoes
with holes right through
the patchwork quilt
authentic enough for two

the light changes too quick to hold
and the stars take over
the mould of the dusty sky
is forever in my eyes

where the distant winter is already
kissing anothers cheeks
i'll see you again so soon
always before i am steady

the beat of fives is a harder glass
filled with a with a wine
more for me than you
but sometimes its itch will pass

and it was gone.