dismantle the straight-jacket and radiate.

some days are sent to carry you over the humps of life.

the dark is rich, gives shades of sensing, form is felt without, felt within. thought is given no bounds.

we pass the point of no return, each generation deaf to the landslide.

pull up the blanket, rest the flatland in sleep.

remnants, not much, a pram, a commode, a take out. skipped at the old peoples home closing it's doors for the last time.

under the beech tree we toured the solar system, you named the planets, and i dreamed the adventurers.

borrow all you need, beg for clemancy bend to the wind. begin.

a neat cut, a token tip riding the vernacular, cover for the morass, the steady shame.

you did good, yet on the walk home, the shine slipped away.

half way buried by lived life.

solar glare through an open rib cage.

to what do i tie the end of my line, stay, the morning says give me your attention.

and in the dust i meet the blush and the rose of days past.

within the scaffold i cobble what i can to bear the weight.

i remember young in a classroom learning to edit the voice that shouts out with the answer. now, a master at crossing myself out,...

thin skin brews the first crush ectopic love with no home, swelling in secret.

late in the year, a butterflies wings open and shut, a sweep that caresses the centre without suffocation.

trace from the last boom, portent of the next bust, where do we go from here?.

across ages the orange burn, fire in the stone, fire in the wood power caught within kindles me to life.