discordia

the_sorrow_of_androids_s

In my mind I’m in a granite tower, fog and raindrops,
lichen and moss. The sea above its maritime level
is scattered and forgetful, tiny fish have fins
for swimming and for flight.

I chose a basement cavern and pretense,
Martyrdom Lite with a flower,
I curled on the runway where interstellar flights were landing
and bathed in temporal trickles,
lacking seriousness and gravitation,
factualising while my compass spun.

The planet’s hold had waned,
Newton’s fruit was drifting to the West
and ripening, yet I remained
while those around me rose.

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the andromeda fair

memory_deletion_s

There are certain places and certain moments
when a single word you speak will evaporate
your flesh and reveal what lies beneath.

In the distance everything is magnified, desires that
we cannot reach, immensities, improbabilities.

The mountains of dawn are hidden from me now,
but I will see them again.

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the spells of itapuã

lost_shorelines_s

Thought bubbles must be punctured gently,
deflated with a fine molecular needle.

-/-

She lets me do the shopping at the markets,
the hens are in my charge, I sweep the floors,
but I’m a prisoner in her house.

On the crooked kitchen shelving, potions bright,
alluring clues, magic herbs and condiments.
To prepare Bahian fish, she says.

Her eyes are jungle camouflage, her tidal laughter
breaks in waves when nothing is amusing,
mysteries are woven in her hair.

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day by day

statistical_fish_s

Ghosted fashion, sunglasses of darker mist,
and a bridge to be traversed,
although arrivals on a further shore
are never the ones who left.

For her, no warm embraces,
no distant tears;
without a moment’s regretful hesitation
she begins her journey.

The river far below is flowing russet, jetsam waves,
and tiny stars above are
little suns that can’t grow up, afterimages of
a universe long lost, afloat in panoramic darkness.

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limitations of logic

crossing_s

They’re digging at Sandringham, open cut,
the hunt for the lost Six Ten
that diverted from its accustomed route
and burrowed in the sand.

This morning from my cottage
on the edge of the Sandringham pit
I saw pantographs protruding,
spines of a fossilized dinosaur,
and now the spools on cranes are
grinding sure and slow, steel cables taut,
extracting the commuter carriages
with unexpected tenderness,
not to rend their couplings.

For thirteen years it’s traveled far below,
but today the sunlight’s harsh reality
will illuminate the Sandringham Six Ten.

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what I meant to say

vessel_sinking_s

coloration
Colors round the clock
and I await the pale hour,
cohesive integration.
I listen     beat     my heart     breathe     my breath,
call dullness meditation,
by contrast grey becomes another shadow.

pink anodic glows
I flew to other times in zones,
tinted suns, ascendant vectors,
daylight saving lost,
neon tubes with unequilibrated
electron swarms,
their flickering hypnotics in gaudy
oscillation.

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