Tuesday, 1 May 2012


The optimistic kind
Glitter bang, lights
Flashing lights
And a promise made.

I tread in the woods
No smell of books
but real things
Ideas fully formed
And by who?

The cordial of the germ
swirls around the world
like a stirred cup of tea
They`re listening to me
them dancers.

All the world sits like a
fist in my throat;
I gulp and it doesn`t shift
So I shift to words, to

A series of images engraves
My mind`s eye
And I go to flick all
the cards for an audience
but flick turns to click, click, click

`I must be an artist`
I think.
I`m always thinking, reflecting
I couldn`t purge my ideas
onto the page
Without inspecting, censoring them

`Earth Dance` I repeat
My statement of intent
hangs like a damp cloth
It looks sad.

With mouth to mouth, the stories came...
the juice of illustration comes
And I can swallow
30 minutes every day.
A pill. A drug.

Time is circles and as they loop
I fill their staccato rings
with things
Important things, I think
that become more important
the more I look.

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