There is the nothing that you're not
to be found in the recess
and a hat trick normal stance, the backbone ridge of kuckle knucle in the smaller portion of your mound
on a be-a-man high, my flat tyre quotro flinging me through Finsbury dark
and over Tollington mounds, the monolith temple (for some black-robed Balkan orthodoxy) all upturned crosses brushed and brushed
a man in thongs cycles past me, hunched, intent
where will he end up curled and crying tonight?

spindledistrict

More than is known about the last emperor was his love of spindles. He lived, secluded, in a garden full of them, quietly ravelling and unravelling their cotton headscarves in the wind. Once, when a sad peasant came to see him, he asked the broken man Why did he come? the man replied, 'Because he knew the secret of predation and excess'. The emperor laughed, and laughed, rattling the spindles, coiling the cloth around their tip-top heads – he laughed so long one of his attendants fell backwards out into the gravel courtyard, down the steps and smack! on to the base of a giant spindle. All breathed in. And held. As it wavered, cotton dangling, other spindles sighing sympathetically, considering if now was the time to shed their flaxen locks and soar, a beat, then two, a third and nothing. Stillness, fizzling quiet. The last emperor merely smiled cheerily to himself. The attendant dusted himself off, ‘You must see what I mean?’ said the distraught peasant. Hmmmm, thought the Emperor, Hmmm he thought for a millennia, when finally, kicking aside a roughly peasant-sized pile of bones, he simply said, No.

do and not and please

There's already a gap - indefined and hazy - between the neat strip we were just not 10 minutes ago, so
I can already see how that swiftly moving jump makes the current's neat curtain slip
and pillowing out might indicate a loss, forsworn by words like I and You and there.

Deeply inhabited cakes, the flaking out of long fine strands of your hieroglyphs on the insides
of my eyes, some things are meant to be - but I've fight in the left and down tank a Bay tree flings glorious epiphets into the night sky.

So I know, when you know, the push away is your come here,
a niggle at the risk and my hello