Drowning in Cloudburst

We are a clacking cacophony of a bag filled with pearls,
we are inveterate asymmetries of fantastic worlds,
we are an unpredictable future that slowly unfurls,
we are boys in a long-forgotten playground chasing girls,
we are the unremarkable window stains left by whorls.

Hither all greys, thither all colour:
this universe has been one of squalor,
with wits unlike swords ever duller
and, somewhere, one last disused muller.

We are but made of stardust that each night swirls
through dimly lit streets in small towns, curls
up to young souls and away all the innocence it hurls.


You bleed the night sky bright,
swallow the moon-covering cumuli
like cotton candy on a hot summer’s day.
How wasted your wings must be,
carrying the burden of our specters;
how sleepy your mind must be,
lending all your wishes to us.
You quench the rain with sunlight,
dismantle the shadow-casting nimbi
like a toy after a prurient afternoon.


To walk through intimate places, deserted of familiar faces,
is to remember all the years of drinking and laughing with peers.
Who am I if not the one walking beside you,
what if not eyes tinged in your smile each day anew,
if not sighs permeated with your optimism so refined?
Who am I if not the one repaying you in kind,
what if not a hand in yours suffused with immutable peace of mind,
if not a soul filled with blue skies imbued in morning dew?
To meander following traces, memories of warm embraces,
is to regret teasing how one day we’d move on without any tears.
I am become Void, the emptiness of our hearts.

Concerning Murk

Hold me firmer, halt my mind churning, murmur
the story of how we nurtured our love.
How we went from great fervour to a soul merger,
with the inevitable always lurking, growing
each time we jerked around and shirked
arguments about increasingly irking quirks.
We’re squirming, twisting and turning,
cursed to serve our own thirst only.
We’re performers, transformers oscillating
in between mourning, smirking, playing with dirks.
Sometimes I yearn for the past,
your face in turn is always stern.
If only we could learn to leave,
discern a less burking future –
if nothing else it’s what we’ve earned.

Fiat Lux

Fast forward, northward, shoreward to an altered altar:
the menacing welcome, the threat of a reckoning
has haunted me throughout a battle continuously uphill.
Yet now here I stand, silent and still,
ready to steer my soul into a new constellation,
knowing with this jump my beginning will be lost like Thracian.
But I will remember this blinding irradiation:
the moment I finally synced with this universe’s creations,
the day I scarred the face of god
and burnt all the lands from Jerusalem to Riyadh.

Swan Song

How did it end?
The sing—, ring—, clinging
to you with so much zest;
the liv—, lov—, leaning
on you with all my beating chest:
how did it end?

One night on a balcony,
one afternoon in a gallery,
one morning at a red light
(when I forgot to buy flowers)

How did it end?
A thousand little kisses,
a million (in)significant days,
a hundred missed smiles,
a dozen burned bridges:
how did it end?

My heart will hold you forever,
remember you as my favourite sin:
how did it end, how did it begin?


She glides so quietly through dreams,
spreads her colourful wings gracefully:
brush strokes for a work of art.
Children’s footsteps follow her with ease
as she circles these hibernal fields
carrying all their wishes in her heart
and all their sorrows in her song.
Infinite and endless is her mind,
her love as universal as it is kind,
forever forgiving for that is her truth:
bring her sadness and she will soothe.
Find her at night but leave her at dawn,
meet her at morn and she will move on.


The drowsy waves collapsing against the shore lull
me into forgetting the buckling bay behind
me, and its pallid noises coagulating against my skull:
a hopeful army of sunbeams marching in forever so inclined
to proclaim tomorrow against all my desires
to let this be my end, final, relentless and unkind.
With the wish to perish in darkness before tonight expires,
sand cuts through my soul like splinters through fingertips –
the truth disguised as freeing pain slowly transpires –
I raise the barrel to forge my own lunar eclipse.
An opaque world oscillates around me in hazes of auroral blue:
hovering, in the distance, washed out lights of ships.
What is this existence if not also the possibility to eschew
its own self: my soul into you, dear world, I imbue.


She swirls her finger around the chanting bottleneck:
I don’t know where we end.
She looks at the sunbeam crackling in her ring:
I don’t know where we begin.

It’s raining colours around us
through sunglasses, through tree leaves,
through the windows of the 58 bus.

She raises her head, slowly, and squints:
her eyes a dozen meadows of green.
She lifts her bottle, takes a sip of lemonade:
her sigh a dozen serenades.

It’s raining colours around us
through sunglasses, through tree leaves,
as she vanishes with the 58 bus.


Down the abyss, storming, over rocks, rushing,
towards the waves crushing the cliff
with the force of a thousand armies:
I gaze from otherwhere.

I contemplated a man from Paris once, sitting,
head between hands on knees, sobbing,
on a metal chair by the international terminal:
I orchestrate from everywhere.

Across cheeks, blushing, over eyes, wandering,
towards the dreams palpitating against reality
with the force of a thousand prophets:
I vivify from nowhere.

I contemplated a woman from St Louis once, sitting,
eating a slice of pumpkin pie, laughing,
on a Davenport in the lounge of her friend:
I dance from evermore.