of our clueless questions and our rapacious gaze?
What is it that we are missing
between footfalls, in a caught breath? What tic or tick of rhetoric makes the ground so unsolid wherever we are told we must mind the gap?
Christmas in July
the half-dozen hues
of dead needles
cloudy Sabbath
all eyes are on the bright
heirloom tomatoes
Threat levels us:
targets of surveillance, casualties of public sector cuts, persons of interest to advertisers and politicians.
Purely cosmetic.
A found videopoem.
where that heron used to stand
a painting of a heron
In Weimar
the very trees are smothered
in historic moss
Immersed in a language you don’t understand,
you become even more attuned to the music of speech and the dark magic of writing.
Remember to always practice safe death.
A dream is like a small animal that disappears when you chase it
but will come back if you offer it food.
Unlettered in death,
we are immune to even the most appalling cliches.
