#2509 -- in the great unfurl

 

2509

7.317

15.xi.26

in the great unfurl

Gore Cove Track Series

 

how time is populate with wing

with beak with eyes for

 

a different hour, another day

scratch of the pen

 

one walks

as with a a thought to expel

footsteps away

 

dry in the undercrunch

days from last falls

 

out into another season

 

jacaranda strew, the streets

 

the track is a kind of writing

as ants make

grows over itself just where

 

sandstone cliff falls

the mangrove sway bay

 

dragon skitter near miss

 

it’s voices bring the track along

 

until I am standing with the invisible

catch to cast a shadow

 

the way is a type of speech

 

go about this quiet work

 

pause to make a stillness now

 

hear how the world spins on

#2507 -- poem for the day after tomorrow

 

2507

7.315

13.xi.26

poem for the day after tomorrow

 

here I am gone again

contradicting myself just to say

 

up in the air right now so to speak

or why bother?

 

the present is continuous

anything else contiguous

 

a waste of … that’s what I’ve been working on

                                  all this time

 

I am fucking with time

               it takes me

 

I haven’t written a word of this yet

but that was all long ago

 

#2508 -- the old walls and the light I remember

 

2508

7.316

14.xi.26

the old walls and the light I remember

 

say Beco das Galinhas

 

the mirrors, this urging – defiance of a clock

 

now there’s   new green box    yoyo mart

 

there’s lipstick for a smile

the little politics of a street    that is any

 

so many wide

so many doors look in

 

fumes of the era passing

 

one has to remind oneself

 

how there was a pigeon lift to the alley

 

that stairs of the old breeze climb

 

there’s traffic roar nativity

 

the church invites me in

empty as ever

 

I become a suspect

 

all these places were in my head

were gone

 

I was still here

 

who doesn’t love a ruin?

 

a door slams

 

the names of everything have been changed

but the names are still there

 

just like the old days

lost to be here

 

time is a hidden thing

here’s the machine

 

pick up the old lines

 

streets of a vanish reappear

 

I forget where I am

that’s for the best

 

people shout

and the streets unfold

 

it’s like the dream where you can’t go back

there’s no need to either

you can’t have left

 

sneak up on myself to be here 

#2506 -- tending

 

2506

7.314

12.xi.26

tending

for wise surprise

 

what I wake to –

duty, privilege, just what’s what

how it happens, all to do

 

breeze in the branches yet

fading from one mind to none

 

it doesn’t matter if you’ve no name for it

 

though some say day and some claim world

 

it’s out of the window now, lit

singing

when all’s been said

 

so as myself to be a garden

 

there’s always some purpose I’ll need to abandon

 

it’s up with the eyes to this light

#2505 -- notes from nowhere to no one at all

 

2505

7.313

11.xi.26

notes from nowhere to no one at all

meditation on the means, the making

for wise surprise

 

I pull one out of the thinnest air

I tug it loose of weft – a juggle

breezily

 

it’s just this mischief I only make

make parapet, pop

I vanish in it

 

down the hutch

chew a thousand times first

lost track in order to

 

open, let in

let the idea out

nopw only this image remains

 

must make my own beyond by touch

dead burdens we call time

one must always wonder

 

what has been meant

it’s as if we had always lived here

so always will

 

this is the grief of my gift

#2504 -- a scribble and a scratch

 

2504

7.312

10.xi.26

a scribble and a scratch

ekphrastic for Mio Pang Fei’s 1997 ‘Ordeal of the Nation’

 

in an ink drowning, in a splash

there are faces, there are signs

 

among scattered leaves

are stars

time sinks in

 

mountains and dark declivity

 

swift linger

 

one cultivates an accident

 

if a body, dismember

– the gestural vestigial

 

paint is thicker than canvas

 

everyone leaves some kind of light

 

there’s risk of falling in

 

it’s just that kind of ghost

 

this will all be over soon

 

 

#2503 -- this town is too old for me

 

2503

7.311

9.xi.26

this town is too old for me

Macao reprise

 

blown bubble of concrete

 

trip hazard city

 

they run a stream through the garden for a breeze

 

past shade

climbing where the hot air rises

no veranda but a cage

 

there’s a street of baby formular pharmacies

beauty and fitness reign

 

that’s money for you

 

sometimes aircon will leak through a crack –

the weather of a lost world

 

a building may stand to rot

 

only the blue collar workers can afford to smoke

it’s so they keep the sun at bay

 

life’s short, so sweet

 

Tour #77 stumbles through the Lisbon cobbling

each has a badge to say

 

there are too many words

they are too familiar

 

the town has torn itself down again

 

people with phones are about to collide

 

streets go where they will

 

have to make my own souvenirs here

 

I’m just one of the ancient sages  

 

past my use-by now