The Water

On damp plains sits a morning dew

It crystals spotted through the light

Soft on the eye that sees it true.


But imagine all mornings due

Fallen like a bath on green site

Turning all it is sudden blue:


The landscape changed by ocean hue

Would be all eyes, of day or night

The years and their growth, old and new.


This water of the due of dew

The meeting of Seed with its height

Would spring all life and its death, too.



In the end, is not everything there is –

After moon-dreams fade under Sun again –

The repeat chance to cross the full distance

In new hope that, on this day, on that side

Someone might have an answer to “Hello!”


Now, is it not the purpose of a body –

After moonlight rest turns to morning soul –

To spring into the world and meet the world

In renewed belief that, sunshine or rain

The world is on the face of everyone?


Especially, is it not of the tongue –

After the light brings out too much to name –

To unquietly share the things it knows

In an endless back and forth with the world

That will bring to light worlds within the world?


Surely, is it not the work of wonder –

After the night of doubt dawns to the same –

Not to undermine the want of desire

In defiance of the truth of all knowing

But energise the collapse of distance?


!n the end, is not everything there is –

Before a Star explodes into a thousand –

The chance that the body ran, the tongue spoke

The sense of wonder somewhat satisfied

Even if we are yet to be answered?

Thoughts from a night out

The world is only ever one move away from reaching total distance.

I was being built with milk before I could hold myself up in the water.

The water that can be cupped in the hands is about the size of the beach.

Desire is a multiplicity whose real size can only be met being-carried-out.

I am here to dry where the rain can no longer fall.

Things fall through us: routine to an inevitable paranoia.

Songs to be made like clouds going one way across.

Nowhere in the world is the world that large.

Whatever the weather, a way out of the temperatures cannot be forecast.

I have previously suggested that my mistake was speaking for a second after a first time. Now, I want to be of the opinion that a-multiple-that-is could only ever be uncovered – and so recovered – if tried multiple times.

The way forward is how I worry about the way back.

People are as pretty as the unicorn that such beauty causes to sink.

My time-wasting is just a side-effect.

I am still trying to make ground in the way the world turns.

But what should be assumed of a world that, in self-made preferences, would spiral off by an entirely different gravitational compulsion? A bigger star, and it is already gone. (And how similar are we, the people, to such a phenomenon?)

There is always something that was “left to do”. Forgotten for the for-getting, perhaps.

Perhaps in attraction the only question is: how much are you willing to compromise; how deeply into another field are you willing to spiral?

Things certainly have to improve their best version.

I have a preference for things that do not stay the same. Just as I also have a preference that, more often than not, does not stay the same.

The way to wake up to things that happen is to fall asleep well.

Question: will we ever be able to lift as much as we fall?

It is time to dry.

“through our dead grip.”

People go into the People a lot like forests

Family roots hold like trees and branch off like trees

Above the ground, some touch and entangle, a roof

Halving the light to the entanglement below:


Which, a life-death mess of broken Falls, uncut Springs

Floating off the soil in a river of moisture

A thick seaweed grave of recycled everything,

Doubles the people between memory and movement.


People as the People take to the ground like forests

On roots first spreading then threading and hugging unison

Affixing there a half-lit dome of a half-left space,

Enters the person who went looking for themselves.

The new Fall

I – Introduction with footnotes of poetry

Difference is not unequal in itself

Difference is difference,

Only differentiated by system

Difference is offset.[1]


A system divides prior di-vision

Di-vision just is,

But division opens and lands un-just

To divide in fact.[2]


Di-vision is the difference of people

Who differentiate,

It re-turns only that which is different

In to its difference.[3]


A thing is what it is if its difference

Is not not-itself,

Things must be indifferent to each other[4]

Re-turn to themselves.[5]


Systems and division are the same thing

Choosing which difference,

Their choice is unjust, is theirs differently

Is difference re-signed.[6]


[1] (Water is offset.)

[2] (To sea-son in fact.)

[3] (By its own weather.)

[4] (indifferent to other suns)

[5] (Re-turned from their light.)

[6] (The Water re-signed.)



II – Difference is anti-itself

Di-vision as difference stuck in difference

Leaves Difference without,

Difference born beyond differentiation

Sets a fall withal.


Difference is existence between systems

Between differences,

Difference before, during and after all such

Drops all such in time.


Within the fall a sure Justice takes form

Which landing upsets,

Even the most Just still lands unjust too

Still too unwatered.


Still, some systems do fail worse than others

Yes, more unequal;

Because di-vision can divide at will,

Justice must be willed.


Justly, di-vision should be self-a-where

Know its indifference,

Being qua being makes all what it is

Being knows itself.


Self-a-where-ness would be knowing made whole

S/C-iting a limit

Where the un-known means a Just loss of sense

Sighting di-vision.


Systems can only sprout un-a-where

Find their place, themselves,

And more un-a-where they survive themselves

More so they do grow.


Inequality must not be the end

Just the beginning,

Justice the meaning of its erasure

A-where of a Fall.


So, difference to fight difference for water

Di-vision again,

But henceforth not for division in fact

Di-vision, instead.


That is, a-where-ness of falling-always,

Nothing stands alone,

See difference in standing unjustly done

Start falling again.


Systems are set up ignorant of themselves

They know everything

And then failing all the same, they ignore

The fall they divide.


Justice is the will to avoid the crime

Of all division,

Seeking an a-where-ness of di-vision

That fails as it falls.



III – How to fall

Difference not unequal in itself,

Only when landed

Does it fall to all the injustices

Of self-made systems.


How-so one system unjustly divides

Different systems will,

Justice to be limited to this guide

To make systems fall.


But not falling for death in full falling

Each fall still falls short

Next di-vision re-port all it divides:

Difference, Justice, Fall.


The fall is not the end but endlessness


Difference being start, duration, finish

And repetition:


Justice or the impossible memory

Of fallen difference,

What just is justly falls in the same way

Difference for-gets all.


To let systems fall or build them better

All ways for-getting

Justice the auspicious anti-system

To bring difference in:


From behaviour but never in fact,

Falls into system,

Systemically fails to meet Difference

But just still more Just.

How it all works  


The stylists who willingly succeed the old guard

anointed by the trinkets of its presumptions

Sans shame of farce colour their parade full rainbow

and even that “borrowed” from the weather’s own grift;

Hollowed agents of the same, they stand corridor

where every step echoes to a metronome State

And spare their voices to portend richer noises

if ever to account to the people’s self-march;

There, they mourn national death in grand funeral

as once builders became gravediggers and buried

The performance to condemn performing as such

because tears of regret come where the water ends.



To dis-re-guard this dead cause and find real grief

outside the stale pattern of total anointment

Against the language of bare sentiment only

but to recolour life before it turns absent

The gap between prayer and action must be undone:


“Reclaim movement from the echo of its reason!”


The thought of the sun which

after the light

does not set with it

but holds candle

to the darkness of absence

and temperate sail

to the nautical night,

staying up

whether or not

a lunar desert

‘comes again replaced

by a warmer sky,

must not be mistaken for a lie;

is the uneclipsable fire of a human Star.