The Curling Things


It is the curling things that encourage me

to move the perfect symmetry

the fibonacci

of chaos that licks me on the inside

and spurs me into action

It is the hardness that looks soft

and the elongation of rational thought

I am bound to the unravelling of design

I am clung

and sticking like

feathers to a bird

I am moving like honey

struggling to stay

glued to the spoon

I am the tip of a shell

spiralling like ice-cream to the limitless blue dome


the illusion of seeking

the stability of air

we are what we see and  my heart is breathing


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the narcissist

my face is moving crystal, my fearless mind
the blinking, starry eyes
of night
fish tunnelling toward me, hearts beating faster than fins
I throw this crown back
my wicked hysteria, my vision of flipping pages and baubles,
trumpets and bubbles and cheeky animals in fabric and shoes
come my way
baring smiles
roses and knickers in thorny tangles
ready to sail this beguiling, transparent canvas …
all this outrageous peddling
this steaming perpetuation
this shimmy of stimulation
oh specialness
what an envious concept
easily crushed into spitballs of starving imagination
winking blindly at me in this
extraordinary beautiful
free will world

All That Is


in my

tiny mind

my pin star brain

my little bitty light box

my carbon printing machine

here on this grassy knoll

I know my pencil is dirt

and YES

I am only bones and orange polka dots

but I see an


There is no good or evil, left or right, up or down, war or peace

go_d and d_evil

are but one

and all else is fable unfolding

like sun soaked sheets on my large soft bed

I can not say I worship All That Is

unless ~  I  ~ understand the fragrance of the glory

unless I know my knees are wrapped in love

All That Is is ALL that is

and that is all there is





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