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Crowd Measures

Suggestion to believe, attempts for waking

Operating in quizzed facade, holes masking

Reality, tenants streaming, marked, restless

People too proud to sign away the crust

Almost defiant, though wind and cold dent

Order in file, pattern disrupted, hard-desked

Travel through fire to freeze in fog warped

Control can't take the heart from the flame.

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Rain Men

White nights,

white nights...

I'm colourblind.

Kind of like to think I know

why we stand solid,

struck dumb by perennial sadness;

and the salient points,

burst like bubbles in smoked air;

clasped to the breast

that sinks as seconds lengthen

even beyond reason for purge.


Beyond the clouds that fall,

in spirals, now thick moistened rope;

we are given base,


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First, divide...

Weeds snake through the cracks

cramped stilled leaves beside

clot a crusted creek.


The silt turns past a corner

reflected in a straining noon.

Branches overhanging wilt

as in idle hours the flock come

scrutinise the work made waste,

and retrieve far flung

logs and stones, whittled fare

for time now dried.


And the passenger that crushed

dried leaf in ha...

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Scene In Frame

Central Hotel - noon, sun rays

warp window table;

dust ferments,

noise erupts in waves.

Clientele fluctuate;

come, go, to, fro;

raise and drop, laugh and sigh;

fifty or more sweating, sated diners;

moving witty yarns

in widening circles.

Collection goes round.

Curt remarks

break the frisson

with a butter-knife.

Below swarming traffic

moves in stifling h...

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Prisoner 1.0

In the back room, rooms the back

They always come to find them, 

hurricane-sheltered in lines too crass

for comment or pose.


Month upon month of hardback,

they toppled down the mile-long steps, to get up

only at the cheater's whistle, whip-crack;

plead for mercy and witnessed complex

competition, prizes and incentives

(massacre a punctuality for the losers)

now l...

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2015; polemic; names; faces; prisoner; boundaries;

On Centralplatz

Look close, look far

too far?

(too far)

Cars come, cars go

tortured, metal boxes, smudged colours

on tattered tarmac.

Pneumatic drill sounds, distant

hammering, dry clatter

on summer paving.

A man, newspaper

folds and departs kiosk

shimmered in sun.

The calls from traders

I heard them, then

did not hear them

(refused to hear them).

Stepped inside a p...

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The Boathouse

You once said

that there were swans on the line,

driting in from subservient shores,

arcing in a ring of pearls.


Blood orange orb deflecting now

the attention someplace else.

We sat languidly, in placid mood;

I picked a fight with silence,

let the stone drop in the shallow lake

and waited for the star to burn up

in a crumpled far horizon.

But I only heard a tr...

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