Interpolation

in retrospect
our history
is somehow
more complete

one silent joint
in frozen time
from which to radiate
transition's
point of view

I scrutinize
and cross examine
thoroughly,
search through stills repeat
- never, to rearrange

but when silence was,
in retrospect,
abandonment …

history changed


..

Challenging ISO

You were wrong
to mark it Personal
…
It never was


Enter the great white open:

cans of spray paint
find their way
from night
into exposure

shutter speed playing field
it is here, where I am
…
somewhere

never crossing the outline
to your world
when placing my tag,

saying:
it would've been wrong
if I didn't make it personal


..

Distinct

There are many words
reminding me of you;
Distraction is none of them

Coated in your colours -
a distinct mixture
of sound and poise,
all of which trembling
a song, seemingly sung by you-

is a strange attraction that strings,
reeling all the ships
into a beautiful current
to hold on to and never let go

There lies depth in the distance
and I wonder

How can it be wrong
when all are headed
in the same direction

Who am I
to recognize a distortion of light
that makes me see beyond

And then I know

when one single tear
in each eye, wells up

…
it must still be worlds, that we are apart


..

Picture (im)perfect

It is a perceptive gaze
that sees the creases;
those shallow lines
and hidden canyons

No one knows
- really knows -
the exact meaning of all of this
The constant balancing
to make it all worth while
The sum of gain and loss
caught forever by the painters brush

A cautious stare
catches that fading twinkle
to sudden sadness

And silence intercepts

There must have been, initially,
days of joy
that strayed into tomorrow,
untainted and full of light

Where have they gone,
I wonder
What has gone so wrong
to cause this binding with doubt
Was there too much caution, unwarranted?
Or too much pain, implanted?

A denial of joy

There must have been
(at least) moments
where wonder reigned
and curiousness was still
a first step forward
Abundance, waiting to be assigned

Those must have been the days …
I see it in this picture
I see its prove reflecting

Then why, oh why …

stuck
in the mirror’s mind


..

Tuning

how do you explain
what does not want to be explained

is it
a futile attempt
to accept the want
or need
what eyes cannot see
and hands not reach?

explain while you still trail …

your fingers search to outline the form
over and over
inside your head
until you dream

feel its structure with imaginary tips
and leave it with your fingerprints
of fleeting image,
screaming
I am there ..

but
what-if …

this is freak coincidence
an incident of foolishness

...
we are too cast into reality’s spell
to even consider otherwise

and broad horizon
stays
- unread
- untouched
- unpronounced

- un – wanted, eventually

for its reality is moot

we have written the manual
and analyze it as a chart to everything
a set manifest with all the answers
from structural stature to diction
...
that actually leaves me chilled and wondering

when did we intend to become a work of fiction?


..

Spring

..

Splash ... into puddle

Atone then tumble

Embracing colour

...

Boundless suit


..

Seconds

It never stopped raining that night.

Little pieces of debris
whirled down in slow motion
and carefully covered the ground
in an awkward caress.

These are fragments of photo-memory;
a million pieces puzzle
spilling out from over-exposure
in a second(‘s) impact.

Where once was,
is now saved forever from knowledge;
unrecognisable to the inner eye.

Are these shards, in supervision, made up of me?
A cloaking monument to former structure.

Then where lies the blue print?
There should be a roadmap
from Stillness to Re-form.

Instead,
I have no more thought on this...

With distance comes the quiet.

And ignorance...

A haven
of sudden bliss.



..

The crux

oh, I’ve been winging it, alright
that has never been the problem

it’s that wall
where rules are kept unwritten
a do-not-come-near
warning at the gates of reach

even breath, cautiously unspoken
equals bilateral flaw;
denting space
just a little too near
a certain percentage of
possible breach

bring out the clouds obscuring
- once you know who I am
too many take what they think they can -
followed by rain's distortion
flushing out what’s left
of whatever plan

and now you’ve found your reflection
of notice on the wall
…
how did you not-know this?

it is basic irony

that I too,
am cautiously disclaiming:
handle with care
clause containing
plausible deniability


..

(Minor) detail

the place where we connect
should be a handshake, or a hug
a common ground on … common ground
not just a thought we write down
before we forget

and with every significant amble
roots reach deeper
plotting out new corners
of this sumbiounic detail

a non-existent word
that can not be explained
nor shrugged away;
the presence of a present
constantly unwrapping its veil
until more connections remain

and finally,
the last hurdle we face
is this fear of drawing out
a direction, unseen
which, we already have done
and therefore is a moot
convention
of still wanting
what Is
and not
could have been


..

Is it true?

is it true what they say
accomplishments are self-delusions
pretending
to lead towards extant wordplay?

is it true
no matter how many angles you peruse
(and I’m exhausting all the while)
uncertainty equals mediocrity
for which I’m blind with denial?

is it true?
there are no odds
only endless disinterest
and just,
who am I…?

is it true
you’d rather do without?

… Then I am done!

swimming in this sea, leads
to further scrutiny and self doubt

… and all this air to hold on to


..