24 November 2011


Doe sloe eyed
Is consequential
In this morning's field equations
Along the unreal axis:
She is the complex root
Of my equal I.
Sloe eyed, once,
Was consequential
In a fluorescent light.

11 November 2011

Make this thing without your worth,
And empty be;
The morning sun that new-sets a world's
Fine tracery
Is not yours,
For its currency has no name.
No receptivity as fine
In what it perceives
Serves your phantom'd sight,
That wants what is not there.

04 November 2011

Because the wind is high
I ache to breathe in the space between
What sees and what is seen,
As if all time were stopping there,
As if an earth were sky
That choked fictitious emotion.