Breath

Thereisn'tenoughspaceforspaces 

Ortimeforerasing.

Dentrimentalsentiments 

Setmonumentalprecedents—

Nothingisevident.

Hush

The creek ran lucid, lacerating the hollow of its flesh so that its bones exposed limestone. 

Tree roots reached to the stream, emerald moss gripped, and the water ran whispering.

Then the cry of the red kite.

The clearing stopped.

And all was quiet.

Buckets

A slip.

A sigh.

A spasm—

An end.

Aged Anarchy/On a limit

Adolescent dreams of anarchy and revolution

replaced by reality's convolution.

That disillusioned dreaming teen

replaced by dollar signs and routine

feeding the machine

rather than offering a solution.

---

But we've got five years left in the meter

and I can't help but feel

if we invest just a little more

change, we'll be safe from

the warden that lurks around the corner.

Brown Bird

A swiftness of being,

with gentle sky-taps,

contrasts to the ploddy earthiness

of the ground below.

The fog had swollen,

you could chew it,

breathe it,

and squish it in your hands.

It made the sky flax-white,

refined as a leather purse,

or gentle oak-stained

glass of wine.

And with all anchors of land,

a solemn being uproots,

up, up,

and up once more.

Melting Pot

The world will wither under the weight of dust

and the lies of the mass media.

First the oil will run out, and then the trust

descending into mass hysteria.

And all is in the hands of some elected fate

choosing between a burials or cremations;

whichever offers the best exchange rate

must be the best option for Earth's divided nations.

Throw your dollars, your euros and your pounds into a baseball cap

and melt them down for what they are worth.

Smother yourself into their smouldering sap

and save your skin before you save the Earth.

The Sound of a Human

Do monsters ever cry at night in bed, snoring fast asleep?

Do monsters ever stop  and think of who they're going to eat?

Roar goes the lion;

growl goes the bear.

What sound does a human make

sleeping under there?

Dimly Tinted Windows

I think I look good
from a distance
in dimly tinted
windows.

Far enough away

to not perceive

my vague expression

as lost.

Faulty

The light powdering

through the hole in my head

can be seen through the hole

in my feet for I am hollow.

The fact that sleep

won't fix these faults

can only seem to add to

my drowsy sense of sorrow.

A Transaction of Sorts

Silhouettes cutting the moonlight

into long dark rooms;

each of them greeting another.

With a smile and a bow

they part ways

each thinking

that the other will remember him.

Silver

What is a silver medal

but an invitation that shines

in another man's shadow;

a lunar loser's false light.