The world is sense without sensibility.
Gravel slides - like atoms - rearranges all.
The cosmos spontaneously vibrates
a fuzz beneath my feet and we sit up;
eyes aqueous; fingers poised to clasp
the smouldered roll-up or sleep, omniscient,
with everything amongst our neural dreams.
And in our sleeping learn that stratification
allies us in one divisive whole.
We jump in Chinese cars. Chat philosophy
with Greeks. Politics with the French,
and then, with eyes aqueous and fingers
numb and burnt, I know the world
is understandable for seven days and nights.

[ Back to Voices! Index ]

[an error occurred while processing this directive]