Terraces

terra forma workshops
are our sunken timeless homes
and the land that sparks
the summer
is a fireball to own
we grow like sapling
buckets
and anger to the days
that are overlong and
fearsome, but still they let
us play
galvanise the reptile
wanting to
desecrate our sacred ground
it’s against the cold hard plaster
my palms just
pound and pound
make weight
go skyward
daily
in plumes of
gold and grey
and make each silent moment
the precipice of play

Troy

These nights
These golden lights
That pulse
And
Grow with the fires

These knights
These broken blights
We sting
And
Steam to a moonlight

These pages
These bloated sages
That rumble
And
Stream foolhardy

These grains
These heroes maimed
That roll
And
Scream at the sand

These lives
These tired lives
That are
All
And nothing all at once