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focus

February 22, 2017

how did we get here?
step by step
how will we move on?
the same

it’s funny how
old photographs
go out of focus

what is it that
encourages us to
filter the colours
of past images
with innocence?

perhaps because
the hopelessness
of predicting what is to come
is so clear on our
younger faces

perhaps because
the silent tragedy
of the full story
is only hinted at
in the margins

perhaps because
the quaint, magic inventions
of the past
are not the time machines
we thought they would be

everything has been promised
primrosed,
primed, poised and rosied,
but everything is so far from understood

how did we get here?
step by step
how will we move on?
the same

only different

February 22, 2017

the imperceptible shift
in the other mind
like passing into another room
just like this one
only different

strongest at the moment
of impact, but sending out
ripples that will be
encountered later
only different

to chew on
maybe to swallow
a bit like falling
a bit like vertigo
only different

why did the air
not change colour
why did the walls
not dissolve
why is it not
only different

dusk

February 19, 2017

so the light fades
to blur details
into a mash
of just-happened,
as extraordinary as
just-happened can
sometimes be

mind outstretched
in the falling dark
to embrace the
passing of this time
into the next

the passing will not be held
but it can paint its signature
on the walls of the evening
to show that it was there

past is prologue

February 16, 2017

remembering that which is so easily forgotten,
when once knowing was all that mattered

instead recalling the shadows of patterns
that are always beginning and always ending

sharp winds, white streets, hills
familiar facades and charades

memories don’t bite like they used to
but some still show their fangs

survival

February 8, 2017

first times
don’t come
every day
or even first time
for a long time

survival is not about
first times

survival is about
pieces of silver,
pieces of paper
life served in slices –
you want death and taxes with that?

saddled with a bridle,
hamstrung by calves,
raised by wolves

adrift in time,
devoid of form,
pointing at the pointless

rhythm of the rails,
the secret of the stage,
laughter of the mad,
village of the damned

refuge where possible
any port in a storm
any ejector seat you can find

when the Gods allow

February 6, 2017

seeking time for meditations
on such things as
white shirts and
small flowers and
midnights

flights far below fantasy,
skimming the red earth,
spraying dust north and south

back to the chocolate contrasts,
the spectrum of dark to light,
tonight or
tomorrow
or when the Gods allow

the antidote to the passage of time
the cure against efficiency and
best results and
squeeze of juices from every
human minute,
that which transforms into
inhuman minutes of billable hours

they call it escapes,
I gather the time in armfuls
and lay the bounty upon
sumptuous horizontals

and there to lie
as how else
to find the mind space
to live

expression

February 4, 2017

despite the occasional articulation
of a foot or elbow,
emotions are written largely
on the face,
the place where also
we judge a person’s age

on our face we store
the minutes and the years
of accumulations,
our expressions leave shadows
for tomorrow to see

despite what cheekbones
were bequeathed to us,
yesterdays live on
in the creases
and the convex

the echoes of
smiles and frowns
that we cannot see
and no longer feel
but express us
long after
they go