melbourne eyes

....succulent and vivid

Sunday Morning Permutation

i'm up early here being graced with many wonderful different birds talking singing sqawks
to my ears that speaksings to me each morning just beyond the glass of my elevated abode.
i yearn one daily voice in particular to see his or her song and what types couleurs of body feathers is worn up there in all those tress by that one my feather friend. i am grateful to witness the cyclical permutation as dawn veers her head latterly, the world shifting as darkness lengthens with the sun's ebbing presence in the heavens reversing.

Cleave

To suffer ones death and be reborn is not easy.


to find those things
those things that linger there
still


time lost in histories
to live fully in this world
then banishment complete
left only for mice to read



memory's fascist face
narratives of the child persist
when stories stumble


things turn up telling me
write about me
tell this idea of myself


enlightenment
our mind remembers
a realm of wonderful
and feels the radiance of untruths


i have thieved everything away from you
the grandeur of this life lived
those we need to know most
we know least
all what remains is what was
its pregnant absence

...fire words and cool heat

the sun is rising again
kiss me again with your eyes
yes i am the one
-7 feb 2009



it's a beautiful night
from here to all those stars



fragments
feel the phenomenon
the words coming out of silence



the darkness behind the romanticism

and stones move silently across the world

the idea of stones as travellers
not fixed but erratic
a location of sentiment
broken away from a mother bed
carried centuries away by glacial stares
create whatever needs to happen
mother stone
body of stone enact one place to another
listen imagining dreams
and stones move silently across the world.

-écrit le 6 février 2009

third person narrative

......third person narrative evokes the writer and the character(s).