The cloaked elan of a swerve, it took moon curve, foundational blue in blue, a swarm of swell, cantankerings of elation, not a personality to be seen on a wide tabularity. All that is vertigo is not cathedryllic, this numen is too vexed for spirit.



It will not be so for demons' voice hover low. This turn full of words lasts as long as the dance.



The pallour of your ethics needs the cloak. The stellar you've become requires the cloak. For…

I've just finished reading Anthony Lawrence's multifaceted fresh poetry collection 'Signal Flare' (Puncher & Wattman). It's an engrossing affair filled with darkly humorous, disturbing and poignant short stories, bird references, arresting imagery, human truths and ambiguity. He's using less punctuation and considered line breaks this time around - there's a Beat quality to it all. Anthony's lyricism always grabs me. Check it out asap, LJ. 

POST-SCORCH, 18 OCTOBER 2013

We float through a world

that's surrendered to

sepia-infused Gothicism.

Yesterday, many were handed

loss, confusion and statelessness

for all their years of hard work.

On my windscreen wiper,

a raven-dark praying mantis,

as big as the word Lord

in a hymn book,

desperately tries

to cling to air.  

LJ, 18.10.13