july 2018


...in my head I have created an island

a sanctuary of inhospitable absurdity

where atoms hiss

and equations and souls do nothing

but wrap and unwrap the same darkness

the same encircling ocean

that has been roaring inside my head

for four billion years

and although my island is secure

every incoming wave questions my existence

with its driftwood judgements and verdicts

none of which I dare touch

for they use a poison

that maims and kills only islands

hence I must keep a firm hold of the ground

even bury my face in the soil

so I can hear the absurdities

rising from the earth’s core

where the atoms hiss and roar

in unison with creation

the soul’s four billion years of darkness...





...could throwing lighted matches at the moon

really be the answer to this messianic bitterness

to this streamlined banter

that repeatedly insists on modernising genocide

arguing we need to keep on butting the walls

and snapping at each other’s faces

that we must keep on throwing flaring matches

up at the dark lights of the sky

because only this will sweeten the messiahs

only this will keep their cataclysm safely behind their teeth

but no matter what we do

the moon will remain as cold as ever

a primeval woman

with no appetite for mankind

and one day we will just vanish

as though expelled from reality

with all arguments streamlined

all answers inevitable

and everything on fire

the last spoken words flaring...