Shapes

These loves of different shapes

They do not always tessellate

Naturally slip to fit, embraced

Like fate cast each for other's sake.

In an instant stick, attach

Some may not stretch, to depth

To fill that hole, some gap

Or knot that stops the closest breath.

But oh, those fine balancing acts

Dynamic, each in flux and pivot

Like champagne, upon a plaque

Upon a hand, upon a ship.

With time some loves may mould

Flow to sediment depressions

May shave or carve, swell to holes
May grow
We never sat that lesson.

And you, you loved me

Like I was a leak in the gutter over your pot

And I, like you were a lost

Lego technic toy from the attic.

But the shapes didn't fit.

I knew it. Did you

Did you make that mistake?

The shapes don't always tessellate.

Field of Hay

This field of hay
Is featureless
The sun lost
In late day haze
Cans and empties
Which way is home?
Is it fair to ask
The field is featureless.

White satin

Seraphim, guardian of hope

Culmination of nature's art

Jet flame high, remote

Open up, let flow you heart

Your lips

Close enough for blood to bind

All before, pay no mind

Other lovers, yours and mine

Pay no mind

Gossip and judging eyes

Pay no mind
For what judge
Are eyes of souls and love?

Call, tell me are your hands empty

Holding soap bubbles

And where do you remember me?

Do you pinch yourself sometimes

Troubled that I can't be true.

Those actors that you know

Could they dig this deep?

Could you?

To the editor

To the editor
I often write poetry
Do you read haiku?

Trying for Sticky Toffee

They promised sweets of our heritage

And pink cheeked childhood

Cooking sticky toffee

It's not looking good.

That sweet sticky toffee

That you chew and chew and chew

Till you're sick

Seems simple enough
But it's a delicate trick.

If it's too hard

We'll break our teeth in a bite.

If it's too soft

We'll swallow all overnight.

Stir butter and sugar

But the heat's hard to judge

I've always preferred the imported chocolate
A British tradition,

They'll serve us a fudge.

(Diabetes is the only outcome of this shower

There's a mountain of butter, start over

The pan's a hard scour.)

Shrapnel no.7

Black coffee and acid for breakfast.
Tai Chi.
False spring starts me like a childhood memory.
You should stay one day
For coffee.
We could discover a whole new city.

Thing 2

Haul upon these mooring lines

Till separate gravities meld

He told me hard across formica tables

And I laughed

So far from Delphi

How would it be different.

The harlequin and bells

Against pavement teeth, stacked dice

With lights on on some floor

Adequate camouflage

Concrete, at least temporarily.

They changed hands

The cafe that made the churros

Watered down the chowder

And soon there will be funerals

Crush buckets like pallbearers

Pause.

Traditions, like guards

Will change

Like water through a lock

So soon forgot we'll say here's level

Even if it's the 27^th floor

And they still call the children African

Eating bacon, stale churros

And shaking shrapnel at their elders

To buy beer.