Bay Window

Dabs of white silk insulate us from the summers sun's glow.
As I, legs akimbo   s t r e t c h   upon my bed.
Yellow sheets kicked to a hill at my feet.
The walls yellow and the winter throw too.
A petit Sri Lankan Buddha perched on the sill
clocks this summer's air.

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It Should All Go Wrong Pt 2

It did all go wrong
its obvious end.

Our chance taken on the brittle words
that brought us together -shattered and disowned.
Leaving us as before…
Bereft of the other.

I retreated from our union,
jabbing thistles in our bond
ringing an alert of a union awry.

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It Should All Go Wrong Pt 1

It should all go wrong,
we met in a place of false fronts and lying selves.
A glossy lieu, with suave social personas
titivated to an idealised reality.

Vollies of double ticked messages passed
and through their shallow blue
we were born to each other, rosey eyed
unaware of each other’s face.

We encountered in an entent fragile,
in a room sombre,
scented sweet with amber ale;
our social devotion weak and optional.

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Lyon, London ou Brazil

Si je parle français ?
La vie à Lyon,
au Croix Rousse même.
Ici Je dessin le coeur des figures
qui me passent,
une plume à main
un piccolo à l’autre.

Ou viver no Brazil
Tomando um café e escreve em Portugues.
Minha língua dançando samba,
como bossas tropicais lavar sobre mim.
Minha alma de ouro do sol equatorial.

I sit here in passage
an architect of sand castles,
creations washed away
as I construct another.