consecrated

it's...shaking after the first act
it's seeing the tiny curve of the left of your
it's ours during
and yours during...
and a laugh across a play
and it's seeing all the right notes
and it's the impossibility of tomorrow
and it's we three
drawing a line in, and...
forgetting that this is
the sweet desert
the arch of
and frisson

mungo

a flinder-stone out-mad laugh
that's the way forward, he says
I can't see the horizon just
a salt-bath angiogram
a deep related sea - older
than anything

Alamo-way

barracking not battling
Whitsunday pace at nine-o-
nine a.m. you seem to stall
mouth wash down from 405
and out along the Reach
turned Redondo-red -
indolent, baked on hard
witherin and waiting in the sweet
raisin wind and give (the last
time's note-perfect score) I
would believe, a lesson
in this, paunching up against -
the curving out of the world
at its tiredest edge
a slipper slope pickelhaube
out down the Bay, and rain with
anchovies like kings falls on
a softer, derided day, one
that you, said, couldn't be

sand-time

up here, my childhood feels like a foreign country

when all the sudden

there's a half snatch bracket
a light semantic tingling
you remember that right? you were there
it didn't happen that way
not the way you made it
but I thought -didn't it?
so no it seems that week in a
drafting mist, you disabused yourself
I just felt like your secretary
but when you - I -
a first lavender crumple pot
gained no traction
Oh god, this was -
I made this -
Oh, oh