Sameness, Serpentine

Sameness turning
from friend into serpent
spreading itself across days:
of months locked into circles
rivers eating rocks, canyons swallowing rivers, rocks filling canyons
into a flat surface of
interchangeable memory, seamless
new features sanded down by the same winds of their recent creation
slipping by, snaking
past all perception

Autumn Snails

Autumn days sticking to the window
lazy like snails, lounging
in the morning light, jewels muted glossed over in fog

dreaming around lunch
about the dusty fabric of space
in the curtain folds beyond
a glass horizon: time to move on

looking for the taste of
sun-coloured leaves, the fire
of rain glittering on crisp afternoons
and sliding down the window pane

Cosmic Cats

Cats licking the stardust off their paws
after dipping them into the Milky Way,
fishing for comet tails,
those beautiful fins of cosmic shoals:
Thoughts of rainbow scales, iridiscent
remains of supernovae, nebulous
the steps of cats, prowling
in the shadow of eclipsed stars, caressing
balls of planets, unravelling,
dreaming of glittering strings

Autumn Mosaic

In the darkness, autumn lingers
suspended in the gaps between days:
Tiles carved out of time, sliced by
a world idly spinning,
and layed out into a mosaic

on the forest floor, grouted in fog
and polished by the soles
of visitors leaving:
Black holes, flighty asteroids


Two halves of a metaphor,
the two sides of the sea:
A coin that keeps rolling,
ever walking the line;
and there are heavy elements
in space above
and lighter dreams beneath
the ocean waves,
and whales toeing
the high rope bridging firmaments,
astronauts walking
the floor of long drowned caves;
and all is its own unending
in the chest of uncarved glyphs
tossed unto the crooked weighing scale
to be measured against possibilities


Otherness comes clad in a foreign colour, too full of contradictions to be described, to be painted;
it comes in alien ships under alien sail and flag, the swooshing cape of golden stars falling into a sea brimming with whale skeletons eating away at the fabric of uniform thoughts

September Magic

Stay until the first star appears
and follow home the blue hour:
September magic,
seeping into your bones,
up from the ground;
flowing out of your fingertips,
taking flight with the bats

and the reeds sing of
summer returning in its softer shape
muted, transmuted, brilliant in
apple-crisp mornings, gold and red
between the wisened green
and the deepened sky

and there is movement
and something more

looking for
a wider place.

Otherness Is A Bird

Otherness is a bird singing
from a burnt tree

against the wind of invisible sea, desert uncrossed

it is a fire curled up in your chest
as you pretend to be be asleep
on a cold morning
but the ice is thin and breaking
and all you want is a mirror
to see your own sun
and the bird is singing a prayer;
please be there, please be there