‘Imagination dead imagine’

As a point

To depart from the

Thing in itself is a landing

From a raft made of twine

That comes below the tidal flood plain

Take horror

Rusted causeway 

Over the flats

Seeking stars 

Useful guide

To the brain skin stretched over

The skull

If indeed we are being in time

Then to know time exists

There must be

This idea

To belong

On the frosted bus lanes

The music box chimes up

Dainty and supernatural

Like a daily dose of something good

Refusal to engage will

Lead to alienation

Chastisement

The hard bop of an afterthought

Not fully formed yet

Still moving towards

The novum of hard thought

Of conscience

To begin 

Let’s play

In case of indeed yes

Beginning to unfold in time

Dimensions resist to rust

Machinery left out over

Many seasons

You’re not dead yet she said

Laughed we

Without eyes without teeth

The village rests on a pile of bones

That people call home