Dawn | Meaning to go on to fix | everything in place, but… | To the group of all known and unknown things, you must add | a moment, every time | Wild fire stampedes through the heart of the city | Waiting for the first ferry after making love | Mind not quite | made up | a fuzz of susurrus, the sound of | passing sounds | autumn at the core of summer, leaves falling | inside the glass and concrete, the gulp and gantry | of pelicans mooching close in to the shore | Checking your watch to find | sunset, also | turned to dawn

Moments’ yeast | In the organised silence of a cenotaph, chic | fronts of department stores, empires of litter | mammalian heat and beat in iotas’ portions | a sparkle and foment | elfin | foundry of a working brain | City at 4 a.m., such a dull | drained feeling, money | trying to sleep but unable | In the distance of the pavements and jaded ginkgo trees | a loft and agitation dwindled | to whispers and clouds | vast flocks pouring into flight | So, you see, this is how it works: I can go back to sleep | Everything is, and everything is in place, now | isn’t it?

 


from the series fleeting pixel (series of 1,000 poems, 2012–2016)
(this poem, October 2013)

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