the tides of time being

sea swimmer with a glimmer of

salt on an itchy scrotum

that looks like a wrinkled prune

under a periwinkle

how on earth did procreation

peregrinate across the seas 

in the warm platitudes

of the worldly i suspect

un-selfless

i can take a selfie

of me writing

about taking a selfie

on my smart phone

now how dumb is that

asking for a friend

who is looking over my shoulder

selfishly photobombing 

collateral damage

elbowed

caught and tweeted 

dusk

dusk

across the snow 
  we did not know

yet by the eruption were reminded

that in the setting sun 
  that day my son

our very nature was blindsided

where

where

where does the sky come from

do the clouds go round and around

is this a flat earth idea

or is there a cloud factory

in a toy land somewhere 

somewhere

where does the light come from

each and every dawn

does the sun go around

or the earth go around

with this idea around my head

sunset in curlers 

and chubby cheeks of joy

where do the green shoots come from 

springing out of the ground 

as the seasons go around and around

is there a shuttle cock

straight through the earth

and why is birth so full of mirth

and where do babies come from

and why is your tummy now so round

as i run around and around you

asking silly questions

that i know the answers of

but i am not at all sure

if i want a brother or a sister

or a puppy now that you are asking

and where does where come from

asks an empty little head

so full of around and around about it

is time you grew up lad

put all your funny little ideas

upon a bonfire of joyous tears

for it’s time you grew up lad

and be glad you’re no longer glad

global yawning

global yawning

transport need

always an excuse

same old excuse

always a need

same old need

carbon copies

carbon copies

read all about it

cold off the press

when

when

‪eternity in a moment‬

‪that is so moving it is congealed‬

‪in a drying pool of dry tears‬

‪that will

that will fall one day 

but not yet‬

bury me with a book

bury me with a book

deep within a dingle nook

then whisper to the breeze 

do not defame or even

whisper his name

save what the pages

in all of their sadness rages

shaking the tears from the trees

to lay upon a silver brook

to hook his seven seas