Slipping back | after a struggle forwards | Then back itself slips, shifts | there are no starting | points, anymore | just | dinosaur verdure | infant stars | Before slides down | After turns to haze | Miasma sets in | Purpose gets bent around | and emotions grow superfluous | these are no longer | places to feel | kindness has grown | inappropriate | love is | unnecessary | hatred a waste of time | we just have to keep moving | please, just keep | moving… | Back returns | far back | deep back | Values tumble up | The spine collects | the head | rises | Somewhere between | ape and angels | eyes | triggered by dawn | open | and the dawn | flapping flightless stubs of wings | begins to crawl | forwards…

Sent back down | to the famous peasant earth | the ground | for breaking and for cultivation | with fork and rake | shovel and hoe | A place for knees | for wilderness | the basic place | somewhere to start, somewhere to end | Before the economies | it was sacred | then the economies came | and it was sorted | into reasons | and resources | square | kilometres | When the angels fall | in pelting crowds | and break their necks and skulls | open on it | it is real | If they continue on | melting into | springs | streams | blonde waterfalls | it is taken | back | into the poetic | the bald rock | the dry sod | the infection that | sends the grazed knees | messages of pain | the ground is swallowed | by a secret earth | a different ground | with graves too small for holding | like cups made right for spilling | with death too great for dying…

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

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