No bus numbers: mustn't be stopping here.

Thoughts on a watery autumn evening,

This particular poet's dreaming,

A romance of the senses breathing a heaving 

Denouncement of the collective keening

'To keep the moment beating!

To believe the movement teeming!'

To descry the knowledge of all we wanted

And laugh for the love of being.

This earth is a play ground,

I am awake within it.

I keep my back upon the rock and stare up;

My eyes the framework for some fantastic cinema of the senses:

The clouds are white and skittish,

A frozen ripple of droplets floating in space,

The tree branches out,

A foreground focus,

A beautiful composition.

I send text messages, smoke cigarettes, 

Enjoy myself;

Grow heavy with the caffeeine stimulus,

And let light love me to the point of exaggerated movements;

Neurotic stutterings -

Entertainment for the masses.

What better way to spend a day

Than as yourself?

They say that the universe began with a great big bang,

And that all the particles which make us up,

Went hurtling into space.

Which became planets

And suns

And moons and ice and oxygen

And molten lava

And toast and bananas and grass

And toe nails

And reptilian creatures which stomped and roared

And meteors and chemicals and dreams.

They say that eventually,

This vast experience which began so furiously

Will lose steam in its argument for territory

And become introspective,

Slowly withdraw from the fight

And suck itself inwards to that point of light

That place where we all began,

To muse upon its journey.

So when all the universe does come crashing back into place,

I take solace in the fact

That though we may be apart now,

There, at least,

We will be whole again.

Something that meant something

The sheen
Is slick with amber
The streets all a'glow
Some footsteps might make a sound
An echo
Before the sole crunches the pavement
A sound born from
Beyond where it came
Going back to the same place
That it sprung.

Sitting out here,
Watching all this,
Thinking these things -
Oh my
How lovely.

They come from nowhere
Disappear hence,
But have their opinions;
Have their
Ways of seeing.

How lovely.
Isn't it?

Well,
What's the alternative?

Not much.
But one could always argue otherwise.
In fact,
Isn't that the whole point?

Heh.

Yes but -
Extremes.
And values!
And this
And that.
Means -
Something.
Something good.
Something pure.
Something
Definable.
And
Worthy.

Yes.
We'll change the world,
Shall we?

With this,
And that,
And,

There was this woman,
That I knew
Who was
Perfect.
Difficult to describe
(even for a ----),
Yet still -
She existed.

We had a lot of fun.

Didn't talk so much about
This.
Why?

Because we existed.
And was fun.

Echoes
Incontrovertible with
A footfall.
Something
That meant something.
(at the time)