A red rumour, glistening and fringed with wiry hair | a peephole in the sun

Blind fragments crawl across the floor, searching completeness, how | distant the past seems, though | it runs right through me, bringing | evocative scents of plants I could not name…

The far-off cry of earth, burial-place soil, lumps of moist clay | vectors of invisible journeys — the tip of the iceberg

All the translucent meteors of our glances | burning without flames / forever passing and with no home

At the apex of our touch | a caress might loop in a love, but / the base is immense and contains forests | the rhythms of the tides of cold northern seas beat against our temples

Our radiant skulls | crumble under the waves…

<moth at the window | that broken old bucket of a soul / pours out fluid ships of molten gold and the eyes of drowning sailors / roundels on unfolded wings>

Silence flowers

Generation to generation, we pass on new myths of words | those gigantic creatures / trolls and ogres, dining on syntax

A young skinhead puts tickets to the cinema into the glass window and the shaking of the engine stirs him erect

The modesty of incompletion

A part for Neptune, a part for Arabia | tendrils, bound to Pluto / veins of Rilke’s silver / bright RGB pixels

Knowing it isn’t enough, but having no other words

Moths fretting the lighted window of a kitchen at night

to query the beauty of the stars

My fingers, still hinting their | gorilla approach …

<lush samsara, so dense and fertile, the forest | embeds its ephemera into the form / of a day without care>

If there is only one thing, how | may we stop it | coming for us?

You don’t need | to pay, he tells her, but she says

I always pay

Out on the calm waters of the yacht-fringed harbour | the ferry heads for our stop | You look so great, on the deck, standing there | against the logo | of the City Transit Authority, you seem | to pack into the moment | more than it can ever carry, and I like that | It makes me intensely aware | “taking it with us” | is hopeless, and | we’ll never stop trying to

If I ever stop wanting you | it will not be me

You are never you

she says | and after a moment, she adds, thoughtfully

I guess that’s why I love you


from the series hypergrammar (open-ended, 2012–present)