Goldfinch battalions | Desperately | fine lines | Refined | almost to | nullity | Supplies of | velvet and crimson, junipers, materialism | growing thin | Booking right out | of epiphany | It all made sense, but | you couldn’t stay there | Hotels and moments | Stayed ‘Lost’ in the | Lost & Found | Shadows of text throw | trees of light | No | point | of | rest | Not here | Not there | When you’ve found what you’re looking for | what will you | find next?

Does that | make sense? || Over, on the other | side of the poem | in the corner with the | stem irises in an old | milk jug of | earthenware || Lips flit and | have their insect | life | the heart | clamours for fuel || Battle | insists on us | This war | requires our presence || For love, too, RSVP || What do you want next? | And what | did you find last? And | do you think it will | still be here | if you | come back for it?

 


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

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