A levitating loop ascends, hisses like the fleeting diagram. What sound the space elastic? Carrier of a broken dream. Clues like stars that disappear behind your head at dusk. The drunken bust. A plane on which it’s possible to sleep, my head inside your heart. The subtle hopes of minor chords disrupted, wound around a lamp post called delay. Sleep and gravity, guilt’s decay. A slipping canvas for a sail, red slashes of a pirate’s demonstration. Eons of bounty, plume flukes from the smallest tail. Rhyme a melody with silver paint. Two red lights in the dark an omen, or pin-pricks of light from a planet warm as wood or skin.
A gibbous moon’s trilogy of angles, quick as lino cuts. The story you drew there, using just your fist. A clock timed to miss the traffic’s surge. Sands. The illusory youth hostel, behind the warning signs, the smell of buffaloes. Eggs whose secrets crabs and horses mend. Dizzy heights. A mantra that never curls or gives off radiation. Puzzles. The cat’s purr like an engine in the mist. Rubbing against the ear. The mechanical shell I held. Photographs of hands. Line delays and free translation. Detox depots. Moon tongue. Silence, then the ever-ascending roar. Mesmerising trickles. The new freckle’s eclipse, predicted by a sonic blip.