Flight

Ghost landed sand blown ridges

Far heavenly beams

Turbulent Quescalus dawn

 

Wreck riding ray tales

Sheltered beneath palapa

Warm rain evaporates

 

First glimpsed through snow clouds

Like old stained paper

Home from brilliance

We know and we will show you

Street

Tank

Standing, like a red bus in the jungle.

Pedalling in anti-camouflage

light, through the grey

start to the day.

 

December rain, slowly drains

Drip splashing tread

Cold oiled head

Warmed by breath

Striking sheets of bright water

fighting

magnetic green

 

Darkness

Boxing puncher slowly

hugging soft toy grappling

silently, to sleep

Smooth.Click. Clap clap

Code

Jump, ex, from the quire

The seat of mercy,

a point of epiphany

the misericord

of a street fighting

man