Infinite Buzzing

If they ever stop

the world will end:

shatter into a silence

of gloom.

The crust of the Earth

is the skin of a drum

that vibrates with the

pitch of a thousand calls and wriggles.

We can barely stay stood

on this boarded, fine wood

the insects use as their

musical theatre.

Their relay unceased

like the roar of a beast

desperate for a moment’s


We Are Gravitas

We are gravitas
We are fire
We have the wings to soar
To the trembling spire

We are emboldened
By every fall
Every grumbling fault
We absorb one and all

The clouds are our ceiling
and catch fired dreams
Soft with the knowing
They’ll explode at the seams

We are gravitas
Tied up in a bow
Throw us to the wind
Watch how far we can go



The ground is thrown
up into the air like confetti and we
dance across the ragged rock and
buckling streams with such
farcical haste

We are robots in a
sarcophagus that writhes
in beautiful agony
with each brazen
lug of blood

The urge to run
and commit to
the grass, contribute
to the flow of immaculate life
and rip-roaring death
that bubbles within each
biting insect’s bark is
potentially seismic

Every growl or
cursory, stuttered breath is
a reminder
that I am alive