and everything became heavy with human: we didn’t half drag our heels and turned Christ into Christianity (forgive me for I have sinned) and Buddha into Buddhism (everything is going to take a kalpa of lifetimes) we didn’t half love the cul de sac the endless and the exhausting journey going from nowhere into nowhere [...]

the higher up the mountain the cleaner the air i am hungry for the high up places the place there isn’t even air just us empty bliss remember ?

i pulled myself from the river all mud and silted up and came up through the mist new and sinuous rising light as air as mountains but my feet stayed clay stuck legs all caught up in stories of the past the he said she said and all those faces but i saw the part [...]

so there am I all up in my mind busy in the what ifs the what thes along with all the other holy fucks when out of nowhere comes a breeze a song in at the window cool, lovely it moves across my skin wants to play cries: this and i remember (thank god) this [...]

the forget me not did not name itself it has other things to do: like be be the ridiculous blue cloud of foamy buttons upon which that ancient beech tree floats No. the forget me not did not name itself it was named for a human by a human who had forgotten that no one [...]

my mother says: you have pretended to be a person for too long now it is time to come home. i turn to her (my inside outside and silver as the moon) and I say: how ? and she says this: Follow my Finger

it comes at me sometimes in snatches a song drifting in the air the air across my skin – exquisite a scent so fine it makes me stop when i’m on my bicycle say wending through the belchblack traffic and life drapes loose about my shoulders loose enough, slight enough that i forget it’s there [...]

when my pen gets close to the point which i admit is rarely my heart races i am drawn helpless water down the plug into the centre of things desperate oblivion home

inside John Steineck nearly 100 years ago the sun sets somewhere in Wales cuts itself on the sharp of a mountain sinks bleeding here though over Delhi the sun sets smiling sinks happy job done beneath the whole of life puts to bed sighing the fat man beside the road choking on the traffic both [...]

so i stand here still and i say: write me home moving across landscape moving in lightness in direction none-in-particular and i am laughing

swallow tastes swimming pool blue as nearly as the sky pool bird its heart skip beats a bloody red and the parts i have been missing lie scattered loose on loungers brown as nuts beneath the tree warm as wishes from the sun butterflies fighting or loving same same today it might be that I [...]

sometimes when i’ve forgotten how and what it is I’m meant to and panic in me rises when everyone around me seems to know even the great Romanian painter joyful - sad at his table planet head in his painterly hands over and over saying what i am doing ? when even he has recognised [...]

i am in love with it with all of it with all these shapes sighings hopings wantings all this hair flicking turning on its heel the bread is burnt the cake is sweet the rain is coming i'm in love with it all for it is her dancing inside of him for he is the [...]

what is my name ? you will find it under your pillow whom do i love ? you will find him in the next room and the next and the next where do i love ? you will not find any in which you do not what stops me from the still divine, all of [...]

so on monday i decided to Be-that-Longing with every fibre of my being (as though i had a choice) i'll let you know in a week or so how it's working out

no one dancing anything no one being anything all of us being danced all of us being nothing and inside any of that everything

today i'm her coming in my thick boots fearless not cold coming over mountains one way: this to him him with eyes which cut all the way through ripping up the weeds persistent as the mind blind me free me make me fucking nothing they say it wasn't easy that time around the rocks have [...]

the other side of thinking i stumbled into something blinding i wanted to take a pen to paper but couldn't lift my arm i sat there basked in stark stapled like a beetle to a board

in india heading north up into the high up hills this comes through the radio: Silence is the Language of God All Else is Poor Translation. it's true but I am in love with words black marks carving up white him moving inside her love-cries echoing in empty human screaming inside god