a ziggur rat


, , ,

there are two women

one has skin, like a grandmother,

tight and smooth.  The other has

hair like an alouette,

diving straight at the earth.  the two

join hands and

build a bridge, stretching across

the world, where sailors can

loose their heads and sky divers can

land their planes.  the grey in one eye,

the sand in another, let the light

try, to stand in for mothers.

how far you can see


, , ,

strike the toastmaker and

the words will revolt.  strike the

bridegroom and the

gold coins will de mint.

the love will run dry, after two months

finding joy in

cliche, running like a thief is

chasing her.  She’ll end in

a dense city, lost amid the

sandstone.  Which corner will

she scream in to?  Which street

won’t her husband look in?

the man without loyalty in a war of the worlds


, , ,

the friend of the stock market, in

an alleyway, two blocks form

my loft, finds a steaming dumpster and

speaks to the contents inside.  The air

shapes into messages, spelling out words, words


prophecies.  the man waits until

he’s falling asleep and puts the words together.

Tomorrow, or maybe after decades,

there will words from the

friends, whispers, like vents

opening into the centre of the world.