Alone in a new town | Washed-out synths, shuffle of pads and clicks | You bring your music with you, the rooves, seen from the metro | train are glazed in early 00s’ | ambient or languid electronica | floating like leaves down a conduit | angular, rotating footprints of maples | trail of an autumn god | Time to put | your affairs in order | Fix the ontology | into position | back up the hard drive | lock snow in the Cloud | perfect the iambic | nod to the Masters | draw a line | under the freefall | pay off your debts | The office | rejects you like a grafted limb | Capitalism | sits uneasily with you | but isn’t it because | it gives you the hours | to ponder its magnificence, to observe | the glistening, radiant worm | of it twisting and mouthing | things like words | in your head? | Was the received wisdom all | gobbledygook? | Google it, Kyoto by Air | a tint of austere | melancholy | water-colours of | Japanese irises and frogs with long | slender feet | catching the tail-ends | of translations | the fall-out | fragments | the ghost you never | quite | turned into love | Building hotels | to watch | the glaciers crumble | panoramic views | of the disaster | you have made by your | exit | a connoisseur | of nymphs and wastelands | folding your treasured | flock of atoms | into the past | and leaving the most beautiful | poems so late | they simply cannot | last

Outside the apocalypse | paring your fingernails | the mighty | individuals | stomp over the world | gobbling it up like | Pitt and Boney | Allow me please to draw back | the curtain on your style of death | the carbon footprint | the dinosaur | dandy | the celebs | the glam | the self-expression | Uncouple | beauty from policy | what is left? | Throwing a rain of | particles against the glass | declaring your independence | by pixels and logos | on your jacket and T | your only answer seems | to swoon | leaving you out of it | a tearful | rebellion by champagne | subversion through tenure | Well, and when | shall we 3 meet | again? | A broth of grumble and whisper | sub-whispers and | bits torn out of an index, is this | all you have? | Failing | to make the junction | docking | with an empty ship | packing the sea-shells | with rumours of | the Devonian or the Cretaceous | getting ever more | remote and obscure | retaining your purity | by taking the hermit’s | path up the mountain | always higher | like the old Zen monks | preaching to stones | explaining the pine trees | to the dust | taking a late train | to a new town | finding your post | not all you expected | but manageable | disregarding | both the bells silent | and the bells tolled | threading the dusk | through to the dawn | passing your time | gilding the gold

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from the series fleeting pixel (series of 1,000 poems, 2012–2016)

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