The thought of the sun, which

in the retreating of 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.


The peak of the peak, or the equator

[For better context of this poem, please look at: The peak (1st of Dec)]


Suppose that

experience can indeed be drawn

and counted in triangular form


and each person lives out their own geometric range,

where the angles and heights measure differently,

being of varied extension and sharpness


and, in that, even similar experiences

for people who are not the same person

will triangulate dissimilarly


so, each person’s going-about

is unique yet geometrically comparable

distinct yet always set out mountain-like;


Now, if all these individual and idiosyncratic textures of

experience were to be collated, put together as they have to be,

to make a single shape, a totally indicative form, would this


object of the experience of experience be one giant Triangle or, rather,

something more obvious: like a Sphere, marked by a unifying Equator

brining every high and every low to the same finishing line?

The year of Paralysis

In the year of paralysis

where the world is reduced,

there is one endless winter

that stunts the common growth,

it freezes the known paths

and subsumes the old currents,

not just halting new life

but the seasoned one, too.


In that year of paralysis

where meaning is seduced,

there is one endless night

that closes the horizon,

it saps space of its colour

and shuts out all perspective,

not just starving time now

but the one to come, too.


In this year of paralysis

when our hope was traduced,

the summer and the day

did not come from without

but from those we clung to

who in turn clung to us,

which was all that was left:

the core of what we are.


So, the year of renewal

when the world starts to thaw

and the roots spread again

the light have other sources

and clocks can count more,

let none of that forget

the darkness of this year

and how it was all fought.


For Mum, Dad and Nick, who will

forever be at the centre of

my existence

This is the end

A river

ends / in

more water;


there, a


is born.


The difference,

sweet water

salt water


a difference

of water,

still water,


from still

to less

still, but


still water,

and waves



and waves




It waves


the weather



the season;



of the


it means


the weather

can carry

the sun


the sun

will carry

the water


and then

like always



it ends

in tears,

it ends


in tears


The river


is born

from then;



fruit of

the same

but then


is neither

sea nor

sun nor


son of

those, but

a thing


both more

and less

than all


of them




And ends /

in more

and less


and so

does not

end. But


it goes


the tears


do not

wait for

the end,


they are

the end




The seasons

the weather


the sun

the water

the river


are just




torn from

the tears

of what



was, in

the end.


A river

ends, there

a Sea


is born,

will end

in tears



Will end

in tears



Will end

and end…


will end

and end,



But the

fruit of

this rain


will be

more and

less, will


be more

and less



The economy of value II [The Contradictions]

Because the value of something

rises if coveted by

those who go without it; where

the greater the force of their

desire, the greater must

happen to be the valuation

attributed; and, where, too

a transgression of the moral

law, however ill-advised,

in consequence shunning, proves

beyond all apparent doubt

the force of actual desire;

because of this odd economy,

when that of which we are in

possession is purloined, the

thing itself we mourn the loss

of, is mourned as a more valuable

item then than it had been

before leaving our keep, and

perhaps, this alone, should draw

from us some despair, not only

at that enhanced difference of

value that cannot be properly

owned, but more so at this negative

meaning of possession, overall,

where more is had if desired

by those who accept they have

less, and even more so, yet not

if violently dispossessed.

The peak

Suppose that

to experience

there is a geometry


a range of triangles

of different angles

different heights


they are set together, mountain-like

each one of its own kind

of its own time


to each, two vertically distinct sides, too

one for the way up, complemented by

another to come back down;


Now, if the better experience is

in heading up, and the best experience

of all, the tallest triangle of them all


how early on, in the unfolding

of your experience, would you like

to be on the ascent of that one?

In every positive, still the Negative

To those who argue for or subscribe to the philosophy of universal balance

that preaches “for every negative a positive, and vice-versa”

such that good things and bad things follow one another and ultimately cancel out,

I have a pinching question

for an internal debt has been growing slowly with each change

and I have not by myself been able to resolve it

thus, I ask:

is there not a sadness ineradicable that lives through all endeavour and hope,

despite all endeavour and hope

which fresh endeavour and revived hope never annihilate

only temporarily survive, then by which consumed, once again

no matter how articulate or vivid the promise of a Future

or how widely the children might be awoken to a new time

or how near or distant, audaciously or austerely, the parameters of paradise be set?

thus, is there not rather this understated melancholy so necessary and clear that it need not be said ever because it is already said always

said by a default mourning

every morning

there in the feeling that knows the difference between

gaining something and losing something

the irreplaceability of something, the absolute individuality of all things

that replacing one thing with another is not replacing it, at all

but trying to forget it,

to kill or postpone its memory with the presence of something else

as the day today does not replace the day yesterday

it is here instead

and all days are in their own way

once done, lost forever

tomorrow will come and be lost its own way too

and nothing will be able to replace it, just as it never replaced anything, either

the new only takes the place of the old and that is felt

the absence of the old is not covered or forgotten by the presence of the new

but is quietly mourned through the experience of the difference itself

as if the only real difference between a morning and mourning were a spelling mistake

fundamentally, are they not the same event?

to the philosophers of great balance, I turn and posit this

is not the miracle of birth still no consolation for the senselessness of death?

thus, is there not this residue in us that accrues like a debt

and no future able to satisfy

without adding to it when its place later taken, too

in the eternal return to the Negative?

Natural Weather

Where the sun lifts the world like a flower-builder

which is to say an impression-grower

The clouds come and go as contrast-breakers

like doubt-creators

When the rain drops, soup-filler

and runs, route-divider

The wind, from breezy to fiendishly tropical, a plain-sweeper

and over water wave-sweller

with all the force of a coastline-to-beach-converter

Storms being a bit of most of these combined, awe-inducers

and when absolutely electric, apocalypse-teasers

then the temperatures, an all-weather phenomenon, season-dependent home-conceivers

in winter, armchair-by-the-fireside-philosophers

summer, all-night-dancing-in-the-streetlight-lovers

The cave

Pyramid organisation

is triangulated through one

fundamental premise:


  • it will always be easier to stare at the ground and move than movement whilst gazing after the universal roof


it is within the exercise of the body

that horizon endlessly more visible

than the cloud to threaten the clarity of the way forward.


To counteract this rigid truth

that the least visible be at least visible in its invisibilising cause

must the neck be trained, the head prepared


for the body of the Pyramid, in turn

is divided in levels top to bottom

the lower, lower, than the higher, higher


the lowest of all feeds all

the highest is fed by all

the at-bottom at the bottom run by all the above

the topmost running everything altogether.


In this principled pyramid

easiest does focus come where levels the same

and over-all especially against those below


and, according to principle,

hardest under-all for the sufficient stare to see

through to the top and build vision really:


  • the lower the floor of the eye that tries to vertex meet, the sharper the angle for the neck to risk;
  • and riskiest of all for the body remainder needed itself resource to re-source the rest of the pyramid all the same.


So, does not the empirical distance of this pyramid in itself to itself therefore explain

the breeding of as many myths for the skies it obscures to its many grounds

and likewise uphold respiratory structure to that down-the-neck breathing of a total power exhaled through the layers by a crown placed singular, final, atop all?


Well, now, if to build this neck with hopes of observing the full distance of the structure it feeds and the crown it empowers without folding over itself

the burden on its spine and sight would have to be shared amongst a collection of angle-shapers

each in turn taking in different part-moments of an image and presenting the evidence across a language yet to be levelled out…


To outstand pyramid organisation

and the inter-level division it reciprocates neckline intra-level

only a head-sharing language could entwine the sufficient point of view to bring about a structural collapse.

Purple, historically (the horizontal perspective)

Different things can only behave indifferently

for their difference is at stake,

their indifference, met by other differences behaving the same,

begets more difference, unbeknownst to their selves indifferent

next difference comes as a shock

a destabilisation

turns a simple change to ex-change:

the future presents without the full sight of its pre-sent property

this is what turns history on

what sexualises history

and a bastard is born.


The search for Genesis

that seeks the day before a birthday

comes as history makes visible

the Invisible

is at once the interruption and resumption

of an ever land-ing fall.


Where the fall is just the continuous bastardisation of everything.