we can go on, but not this way

feeling the air

get on its way for the day

cool setting out

as sunlight takes its place


in the moment,

presence blends among warmth and chill,

thoughts of mummy, tea, and the way leaves listen

to bend ever slightly

…is it learned? do they let go? to catch and pass down, I mean –


a look to the clock.

full stop.

the mechanism continues,

without “you” …is that okay? am I okay? what is okay?

let it be. in every sense. as it be.


untitled, in three parts

part one

scoring the halls of institutions

a childish convergence without question,

rather a tunnel of answers, along the sides

pulling the eyes to a crossroads, in a rush

and a sudden halt


rejection of your ways mirrored

turns you internally

so what is that I’m on about…


cue the crisis, identity clarification comes at a price

at times, worthy, and indulgent, and always the former

then found that – woe, who is me? not nearly enough in a world of tangible dreams

there must be deeper still

beyond a body politic

before the rites of men principally concerned with praise,

rarely the practice


part two

through these phases, I find my poems feel like prayer – recited, though they may be spelt again

in revisiting selves

being, what were, and others,

you may wander upon bridges unfamiliar or

worse: familiar and uncomfortable.

you may find transformation is relative,

not unrelatable


and there for all tethered to it

do not think yourself special, nor weak


part three

it’s been a minute

since I’ve channeled the audacity

to speak admittedly,

you know how heavy that ego be and now

I feel the space to breathe

rising up out of me, from the collective sea,

knowing the tongue in this cheek

how it whips sweet and dark from beneath

the source drips deep


dances with doubt

when doubt is your friend,

what kind of truth are you living?

dusk dims again to day

and what was turns may have been

in the back of the eye

I have seenĀ certain lose its peak

yet beyond the depth of the retina,

in darkness,

there is solace

every thing in its right place

in *this* time and space

to bump in the night.

I tow degrees of disillusion

rollicking through the room

finding promise in glass broken, wedged in bare soles,

swept away, dislodged by careful hand

– see, tender and tough do not oppose –

with bruises from hip to shin, ripe and healing

in tones of sunset and sunrise.

I dance, lifted on stubbed toes

all the while,

sowing ahead through tears and laughter.