I nake these miggles

Write a blerch

Cut and pasty 

Forget she sits 

Invisibly 

Then delete it 

Gone forever 

No one knows 

Where been gone

Yet these etches

Were unsourced 

From a dream 

Of moss on feet 

Then I saw 

The same again 

In Bamba's diary 

So my wretch it 

Was complete 

Nothing is lost 

Every action 

Has its tremor 

Which begets 

the same reaction 

In a psychic 

Hall of mirrors 

There was a line 

Woofing iron 

Some allusive 

Incongruity 

Cloud without stream 

Heavy as smoke 

All infusions 

Of unknowing 

Guess what Freud 

Would make of that 

Every time 

I nake these miggles 

In the cauldron 

Of concession 

I devote 

my soul to heaven 

Contrary to 

The whiff of flesh 

Burning like 

a wave of phosphor 

On the beach 

Of perfidy 

O my word 

My trap of leisure 

O my piece 

Of Paradise 

Lost as pleasure 

At a funeral 

Take these bones 

Lick their Marrow 

You can taunt me 

As you like 

You can rake me

Like a pillow 

You can haunt my

Endless night

You can slake my 

Weeping willow

You can fake me 

Like a plight.

2018