Poetry

A stand-off between grass and moon
marginalized the perfume of night.
I was standing to read the graffiti
written by light and shade.

The planted kiss, the embrace, the trembling
legs have bricked in the trapped saint.
Where were the stars leading you
for the journey to the end of the bruises?

Some coarse absence of winged thoughts
had continued presence. It was blankness
without emotion, without movement. Can
you think without the past, without the future?

Step-by-step the malice, the lie within
the lie unfolds. Gives a deliberate shock
of self knowledge. I count the bonfires on
the hills. Coming up to unfog the sky.