Crowd in your life | The ship of your school, easy to make out on the plain | an odour of fried herring and scorched wool | Powder pink | puffs from renegade fireworks | Dense | scripts | heads | bowed and arms | crooked | tongue tips | peep and | concentrate down the | years | Incoming! | Filigree and | curlicue | impactful | beauty of a | sensitive cartoon | imbroglio of mud and cows | and the triple masts of stickleback cruisers | intaglio of | mounds of flour and maps of dough | rolled out all a terra incognita | Doors | into books | Such a | fuss and crackle of | living | in our gods’ | small worlds | Such tender | inches and | degrees | around a girl, those | raspberry tongues | peeping again | A | hush | of silence on the edge | of sound | Near the high windows, I have only to lift my head a little to get a view of the garden, the brook that bounds it, and the fields beyond.

 


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

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