as eyes seize it
she accompanied herself
where she once feared to tread
so lonely now
lost in the madhouse
usefulness over
landing full square in life’s bin
a very close shave
taken forsaking
the fasciculation of
life’s indecisions
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
