Saturday, 18 March 2017

skin under my feet

the skin under my feet
is breaking apart
I see cracks
layers of dust revealed
I like them
the cracks
the dust
the reminiscence
of yesterday
today
they remind me of
that smell,
robust
but porous
an almost physical
corporeal smell
affecting the brain
a nostalgic smell
impaling all senses
the smell of dried clay
water swallowed
within the cracks
smelling of
memories
wet
tangible

that smell

And
         so much
from these cracks
so much
from touching them
revealing
from the dust
                      so much


Friday, 17 March 2017

monotonous

So much ink on these pages,
flipping from one to another,
flipping through day and night,
flipping in and out of the bed.

So much goes between
the ink and the flipping,

yet we don’t realise.

Just keep flipping.

Sunday, 5 March 2017

Sinking

how would you see anything
anything
if your vision is blocked
by a parasite
on the shores of hope
in the waves
of anticipation
touching your feet
at every stroke
sinking you in
the porous
tomorrow
sinking
in
today,
disappearing
              feet
      legs
         palms
    chest,
eyes
look up
to their companion
waving at the horizon
drowning
red dark spots
hover in the sight
and a crescent
above
it's getting dark
and the spots,
dark red,
are also drowning
in a darker background
        time
to go
       home


5 3 '17