Regret

In the ear of one Goddess
There is a hidden cave,
And there within as men confess
The ground is golden paved.

I left a doubloon on the lip
Where cave and daylight met,
And on departing, memory slips,
Redeemed by one regret.

Last Armadillo

When the last remaining animal –
Or statistically likely to be
Insects pestled from their
Trillion kingdoms into
One final fly’s resilience,
Or persistence in a millipede,
Entrenched, like a final
Ardent campaigner armoured and
Protesting against a railroading
While his friends from
Treeline canopies all fell,
Curled in a hopeless ball,
In otiose defiance
Against humanity, and defence
Instead of deference to
Authority, Ark-reversal,
Last armadillo, last pangolin,
Last bat, turtle, last blue fin,
What will happen then
Upon this faithful reel,
When dejected, I am
Reincarnated
Upon a karmic wheel.

Soul Coast

My feet are a foreign land
As I stand where surf relapses,
Whitecaps are my family
And encapsulate with great
Succinctness
And sadness

My lifetime of experiences,
An escapologist, an emphasis,
My bare toes in saline curls,
Where is my soul’s house
In this here and now?
I too loved the feet of her odes,

As measured as moonlight
With feminine verbs,
I caught a punctured headlamp
From a lane that would curve
And chicane until it meets
A coastal kerb, above

The haunting cove,
And I am compelled,
Once again, to restart,
To daylight’s return.
On periwinkle sands,
A mustard-coloured heart.

Immolation

I set my soul on fire,
Alive on a pyre of
Dry hyacinths and
Sad gladioli dreams,
A blind man’s
Sandals, and shoes
Without seams.
By a scruff
Of the neck my flames
Took hold of and wholly
Captured that beach,
Held up like a brace
Of heaven’s partridges
With only a tidemark
A cause for retreat.

A scandal for a year or two
And then the villagers
And media and cartels
Will sleep. We are all
Victims, one way or
Another, of sins.
A distant windmill withers.
In a dream sunk
Within a different dream
Your hand came out
Of my mouth like a tongue,
Like a mythical petrified snake
From a deep sunless cave
And for the first and only time
I was made complete.

Paradox

If I die
Does that fly,
(Industrious in my boardroom-soul),
Die too?

The answer lies in morning truths;
I have seen too much death
To live without the absolutes
Of moths and fly-wing truths.
Await ahead, the multiplicity of universes
Wait renewed,
For the fly lives on without me,
But that singularity buzzing
In my mind’s
Unhealthy eye
Is discontinued,
And so the two states
Unfold together,
Uncomfortable together,
Yet necessary ever since
The primordial glue,
Made endless as Pi
When considering as I
Pulled the duvets of truth
Over my view
Of all the possibilities
Latent, residual,
In me, and in you.