Time will overcome time will undo you overthrow you pour through

Like mountains tumbling at your feet the city is hot and sticky and icky little bits

Of flame lick out of the corners of busy men and women’s mouths like small glimpses 

Of insanity and I am writing backwards again today later on running fall to sleep again something to drink only understanding forever will not wait to come but

If this will help I’ll take whatever I can get

And the kids meet up in the morning they don’t care yet really, they don’t

The pavement is a squashed flat trifle all that is left of yesterday’s Purim noise 

A green parakeet’s silhouette is on the bough of that massive oak (?) that they

Said they could cut down in two days as an experiment

It is so fucking quiet this morning the silence is like a drug that seeps into my ears 

I almost smile

To know when to go that is the creaking secret to understand the rite

The ritual and the romance, “It’s about time you got off…”

The second-hand bookshop blues, the citations that you will never use, a literary response to

Repressed energy slowing down machine gears breathing slowly into this impatient day

To find some meaning to this rhythm translated thoughts into word patterns that think themselves and operate a fragile democracy on the page to keep on writing and thinking and keeping the blood pumping over the trench warfare that is not fair but more like the folk of a night mare clomping its hooves through the darkly satin black curtains exit stage left now the minutes are really slowing down and not even the final straight is in sight yet some couplets may ease the pace like black dog / shiny frog / peat bog , but they don’t have to rhyme again

Eccentric battle-axe / overpriced ideology / General Consensus (that’s his name) / blown up life situation / the old escalator / oh my knees! / flaming chops / and if that was the medium what the hell is large and now for goodness sakes the overwhelming hell and high water of it all comes tumbling and tearful like an overwrought conceptual artist bubbling into steam on the very edge of their creative leash

That siren again bless it the only thing apart from the birds chirping that breaks the silence here this morning / it can be fraught with desperate edges 

A ship lost at sea comes into sight of land at last / the monstrous hand of invisible reactions

The theory of Abjection, being not wholly Other or inside or outside not caring but not growing either / some couplets to speed into the end minutes

Oriental glow / young bucks / southern gothic / winding path / shuttle bus / morning glory

A cake squashed flat / flickering fancy / leave to remain / the journey man / the journey woman / a wicker man / a glimpse of Pan / dusted down / frosted up / unfinished business

You can / you can / a memory bank…… the orb is growing dark now, what strange prophecy can we cook up inside the glass domain 

What breaks out across the flat expanse

Of deserted marsh

Fractured blown wide

Inside a white nothing

Floating with furious force

Now above looking down its almost over 

For today we hang on

Invisible wires

That lift us up and down thrown

Together blink 

The one-eyed stare 

Your hot breath on my face indicates that we are alive

Today

Wind in the blood sails

We chart a course towards our next meal

Or observation that we exchange with

Whoever comes our way today.