Taking a train to the city | Contributing to the economy | Leaving your mark and your | lack of mark | Everywhere central | the June evening | diffuses people through the streets | in plazas | of course, we will | come to the flowers | waterlilies | floating in a pond | What do they want with you? | who survey but yet | do not notice you? | Step out of line | the cameras bloom | with struggle and pepper spray | Flee the disturbances | the cracks in the order | drive for miles, out into the country | sleep in the back of the car | a bruised | copy of Heine in your pocket | it just | happened to be Heine | At sundown | far from retreat | the moments assign | greater or lesser graves | And will you | go to the sea, or will the sea | come to you? | Willows, very still, and life | set to zero | stays at zero…

Ich Kann Es Nicht Vergessen | the shadow of a ladybird on the page | but then the white horses in lush meadow | seen from the car | somehow the sea | is coming for you | Riots on the news and fire | are the people coming back, after so long? | realising again | they’re not just people, but “the people”? | They are covered | The mood drifts | We were happy, laughing at the party | watching an antique magic lantern show | but the morning after | beside the canals | was subdued | a classical melancholy | The soul | is out of fashion | the body | all the rage | with its pertinent flaws and needs | then | with a shine like blurring aphids’ wings | a dream rises | tigerish | mauls the sodium and the clay | An “incident on the line” | delays your train | at rest in the warm evening | in a foreign country | the breeze | indolently stirs | fields of ripening grain | Don’t struggle | Be happy | You find | you can’t recall their name | find the e-mail | or the photos you thought | you’d saved | The years shear off | take a different path | but you’re content | and settled in a smaller grave

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

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