maybe its like being inside a whale, picked clean and tidy, swimming in a stone sea, whilst waves crash on other shores

magdalene the stones slung on your back wishes or curses not yours but ours to own

lucky is the path lucky is the cloud no need to be other than

even you can wear a coat of gold your breast pulsing like a lighthouse

release the gesture ask without apology for your place at the table

if you keep crossing things out the dark closes the door

the horizon does not give up offering a pacemaker for the strand of our bodies against the tip of time

next time try less don't put every plea in the prayer grace falls in tears of rain

matter presses, fingers a way out of itself, into itself, such persistence.

hooked into dog eat dog rust from a bucket that always had a hole.

what i leave behind is already disappearing, the line pulled back through itself the form dissembled.

you grip the measure brick by brick, arms-length the world: and to unwall?

the nakedness of worms strips me to a pulse, longing for the rain to unravel me; leave me; ghost on the highway.

The tiller is fascination over terror, I am learning how to hang on and let go.

weight lost within wrestles without substance, yet the damage our defences wreak leaves tracks.

we like to find eyes gifting them the vision we fail to find

awakening is one awakening each morning a different universe how to hang on to the hope that tomorrow you return to the garden.

i imagine the savanna waiting for the first laugh, nascent humans, like babies after the first scream, but before the first word. when...

how should i bear this flesh a curtain in the show ground a genetic energetic pulse a tracer kicking the dust.

tears of things swarm summoned from beyond you, sorrow as participation, precipitation even from this spring sky.