I Stopped Singing There are soundsI’ve stopped singing.They ring away,over there, way over there.Chiming bellscackling fires – fumes.Library cards to pointed silencebestowed upon my throat.Good luck is the piano,cold fingers, glissando noteafter note, after note.
Radio Silence When my grandfather passed, I sleptevery night, waiting for the dream. Tick, ticka mantle clock counts the night.He sits in silence, laying out a game of solitaire.He knows I’m waiting for a seat. We have a conversation about his lifeI was happy, I woke up.I was happy.It was death done right.When you passed,
Dustbin Bag A man cracks her upthey hold hands forthe first timeShe tells me about the mountain grassbeneath their feetSometimes we singin the car beforebitter silence hitsA fruitful spacegone fickle from thewords I didn’t speakI, a rag old and usedto cleaning up hermess I stress herBecome ancient nowwaiting in a dustbin bagto be taken out.
Bottled How nice a bottle can become.Unchanged by its environmentwith bubbles fixed preserved.Sticking itself to the one job wemade it for – cheering the people,for you and for me. For hordes of humans, for hundreds of yearsin the sea, for humid days hiddenon a forgotten shelf holding onto the thirst of a heat struck day.
The Dusty Driver A dusty man walks slowlypast red traffic lights wherea youngster has halted hisdirty motorcycle a red finishgone brown from sand kickedup over two people and the olddriver who enjoys a Sundaysemi-walk next to the highway.
A Michelangelo Fix your mouth you saidback then when I caught youoff guard by mirroring yours.Today, I see the soft beige a rounded smile in my periphery. I love youjust like then but quieter now. Likebread rising under a tea towel, I extend it with tendernesskeeping out a tasteful eye ofadmiration, keeping myself astray. Do
Dire straits Heat waves rise with the morning sun on its horizon, where the road meets the sky, and I walk and I walk and I stumble as I walk away from the nightmare of the scene. The sun now casting light on what the moon could not illuminate last night. The horror of a
I Extend Myself Here stands a pathogenesis of me.An extra lime -who’s naumannite made.Laughing in my faceprint, begging.A partygoer of mine – with idents and lifemanship.Gripped by handbooks and touchedby cheers this otocyst – looks just like me. Chance Poetry (N+7) A. Evensen
A Chemical Imbalance A new cashmere covers the floorit was too expensive to throw away.Coloured journals pile the deskto remind her of the good years.A closet stretched across a wallit was hard to pick one dress.A mirror the size of 17 platesto make sure she looks the best.A drawer packed with pill boxesto keep it
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Below The Sea One night I dreamtI was under the seastanding on its bedbelow the surface inits oozing depths nosound of nothing butbellowing whales thebeauty intruding mydeepest sleep it waswarm and calming Iwas planted tight intothe cool sand no hurryand worries gone underrumbling deep waterdreams and beyond.