fish jumping

                    unable

summer 

  going over

fish jumping

              jumping

                    jumping

      jumping

just another day

 just another day

every cat is on edge

every bird is on the hedge 

everywhere is everywhere 

on edge

the claws of the wind

the caws of the crows

draw black bile 

from the dark-side 

of the day-moon 

pale    the

palest blue under the sun

in my open mind

every sound is the report 

of a cannon’s rebound 

reverberation is the word

spat out by all of them

drying in the sunshine

crumbling in the sunshine

all resistance softening

as the day returns

to normal i was going to say

but the cat walked away

and the crows flew away

the day moon clouded over

bang!!

probably not

 he said i am

the personification 

of probability and statistics

probably not

she said

they called my city ~~~

they called my city ~~~

they called my city ~~~ 

we call it other things

different people

call it different things

sometimes happiness

sometimes different sins

let’s call it for what it is

let’s call it other things

let’s call out it’s blings 

that sounds like a nice

euphemism  

they carried tubes

 they carried tubes

they carried tubes

to  to  to

spit bits of metal at each other

  what a quaint way to wage war

the robot shot   an expletive 

autonomous said  die

autonomously not asking  why

this fun game will go on

after the remote pilots

are cobwebbed

in their soft swivel chairs

ask me on another day

ask me on another day

so   how does one accord a woman 

all the due respect that being the

receptacle of all our tomorrows 

deserves

  allowing  in a quiet way  the lust to grow

to transmute the female form’s beauty   

inherently hormonal   into

the tides that push to the foreshore of

an understanding that these feelings 

are an reciprocating engine

remorselessly turning the seed in the

hay fields of the autumn   for springtime 

for tomorrow gestated long and hard

the lessons   on the banging desks the 

aphorisms pen inscribed  deep

the growing realisation that nothing

was nothing all along   that those feelings

are written in the closed clouds of eyes

timed to open as the buds of longing  only 

to be closed in the seed pods once again

just one more time   i ask you 

well …

well …

i am tiptoeing backwards 

  through your poem

afraid of falling again 

  onto the damp grass

of rolling down the hillside

fingertip out-of-reach kisses

  can we 

play the record again 

      ~ resume ~

or is it scratched

stuck in the grove

  like me

the needle is sharper now

the blood is slower

sleep longer

       can we see

a sky bluer

seas longer

sunnier

flowers more flowery

grasses more grassy 

smiles longer and longer

evenings slower

            and kisses

ah yes

   those kisses …