Fire Red

Slashed with colour,

the flag, it flies

stashed with a flair

it groans on its rise

and it makes a sound

of cold, hard thunder

with every

stunted breaststroke;

shadows a-dancing

wrapped cord all a-choke.

Lined gold and


a chain reaction

of fate,


rotates it:

in this frivolous state.

Crowds line,

gawp up unblinking;

the wise, the enamoured,

the gormless, the thinking.

When I Close My Eyes All Hell Breaks Loose

Half dreaming and breathing full
and true, the dark dances to a place
of blood moons and 10-foot rodents.
I stutter and kick in the present and now
I’m gone to the wind as my breath hits the
fan. Paradigms lurk above; a Tetris shuffle
of nonsense I can barely decode, though I
thirst for every inch of it. Warm air hangs
like a rug from the ceiling and the sheets
cling, rough and terse to each suggested
movement. There’s a safety net I can trample
upon, as though it were more than simply
nuance. Here and now tumbles into my
rough sense of being as I open my eyes.