The Eyes of Night.

      What colour would I choose

For the eyes of my night?

That first-time, last-time,

Never-to-be-seen-again time light?

That appears only when the mighty

Winds and powerful wings

Of vacuum-space and eternal time

Throw dust-and-crystal shards

At the limits of my knowledge; those

That are the too-near boundaries

Of my massive ignorance. Lucky to be

One of many sometime-intelligent observers

I am, nonetheless, very alone in this crowd.

Feted, reluctantly, as master of phrase and

Meaning, I am unable find the appropriate word:

My brain too flooded with majestic dark skies

That sparkle, shimmer and shake without sound.




Before the Flatline.

Red ants on a hill,

Night sky as high

As guiltless sin.


A face made of cubes

Looks back from a mirror.


I fell down a few times

On the way to this place …

But always got up

Before the flatline sounded.


1st July, 2012