24.06.2020 (carried on from yesterday)


we follow the path into the forest.

the branches spread and weave like a government slogan.

we fought the mark and bought the bile 

while wild flowers grew and swept the way, by the way, along the wayside and fell. 

we all fall.

it is the fixed point in history.

god is change. 

a great beauty and all that.

at the end of the day 

in line with the face of life

from a table or the table in the middle of eighteen gray houses

we rose in accordance 

developing before becoming laws of the state

heads to hold

i found you sleeping and struggled to carry you 

i find you and i find my brother along the dead run road

i find the air is verbal 

where we gather now is fraught with cryptic messages

i desire to unfurl the gut feels that language lost

failing to call into being 


those wee explosions leave me bate and fightless

sin is the lived experience

turned to bone or bony tissue

sup from the verb

the question not intended 


Tagged , , , , , , ,

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: