, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,




write in the dark
write after time
write with the window open
not seeing what you write

breathe the air, listen to the
distant motorbike changing
through its gears getting
speed up, getting nowhere

and feel the breeze and feel
the goose bumps but don’t
see what you write even if
the lights opposite go on

or off, anyway let the clear sky
horizon return to their windows
with their eyes rolled up but
don’t look at what you write

smell the breeze through
netting and over paintwork,
the bike still gaining somewhere,
wait for each light to go out and

the last door to shut, then get up
from the cushion and bow deep
to your own true nature, the
very gradual art of sitting





air & breathing & open & windows wormhole: I do
breeze & listening wormhole: Exceat to Cuckmere Haven
doors wormhole: tag cloud poem VIII – growth
horizon wormhole: my life / of others
net curtains wormhole: a light rosé
sitting & talking to myself wormhole: now, have I forgotten anything
sky wormhole: Buddha / Shakyamuni
smell wormhole: earthed
sound wormhole: along
streetlight wormhole: silhouette: // second / thoughts
time wormhole: of a sudden // all the time
writing wormhole: lo