as eyes seize it
through tiny rips
the plum blossom pours
forth white
motorway madness
having missed execution
the squirrel turns back
when this wall
was but half a wall
he placed this stone
still life
the flowers die
a still death
this is a nice shell
but there is a better shell
- the rising tide
so
we are dying
reading the poets
to become the poet
i am not
the photographed blossom will never fall for you
another handful
of broken shells and sand
- nanna please
crops grown under plastic bags
crops sold in plastic bags
- walking the dog
multicoloured
footballers on a saturday morning
under a blue sky
and as we arrived
at the mystery his words
he was gone