Sunlight in the field

There was a color in the woods
of the sun
threading into the plant life
and leaving soft insect trails of
grass burnt too golden
till the grass, she flew
out in a solitary vapor
of the broad open sky
of no people,
no momentum.



Plate 16. The First Book of Urizen. William Blake

There is a death star

Dramatic in its capital transition

Which rises above my head

Eating my dreams

Of absurd

For the normality of traffic jams

And toothpaste advertisements


Imagine if all your favourite poetry

Were to be turned into

A brute of straightjacketed

jaw-aching ‘normal’

sound of the second-hand;

Time without seasons

and sleep without dreams.


Of smothering of the consciousness

In the sweaty palms of

Fabric conditioners and slime coloured detergents

That surely leave no stain

And are optimum for steel utensils.