en

there was one direction
tapering back to a

chance

whisper

where to read these (graced) notes
I now see

the clumsiness of shadow always remains unfinished

n

any likely step that speaks the last part, skips
a dunking

in the saturated origins of ‘if only’

only is one-like, onelicly, exclusively without inclusion

- an iffy fluke if ever there was one

Open

the vat of utter.

An arm for your thoughts
leaving the penny to cry out in name only.

Of numerous wishes I present a piece
dipped in space.

It was a step like any other.

ope

when nearly at ‘n’
the noted ope_s

while not fully expressed yet, there are no qualms in this particular breach

which masks a cushy gadget
for manufacturing letters

blubhub

with one thwack from a punch-line
the boss-eyed lover
faithful to the unend
filed for desertion
one of the million cures
welded to the joke
that had plunged the boot in
to the not so sporting yin

hubbub

op

to be dreamt away from the page
what a ruse

against mistakes raised by embossed objection

a blade sawing at the truth
has no quibble with thwart

o

noted: the next confusion
“don’t mix relics

or we-with-us”

was written on
one side, noticed on the other

as rigorously inexact as
to be dreamt of

o

, as a fanatic might dig for essential distinctions
the page tempts fixation

until a twang of perception repairs
fallen notes

open

leaving a notebook full of inaccuracies as though
it would never close,

blunt impressions gradually cornered by taboo
rampage delicacy, as a fanatic might

Mr Roget’s T - 203 Length

Adv. longwise,

at full length, a crocodile heels to toe from the crown of tandem to the sole of single file, the foot longitudinally stern, the head in front and behind, overall one end in perspective.

on the run

in permanent flight
carefully shuffled errors in distance, made random almost orderly

like a far-flung jumble, winched to neatness
declaring off the rails detachment

before counting the-picky differences between us

"n

ovelty prevails towards procedure,”:

bloom triumphed on the road, so grateful that ‘towards’ was not merely a word and 'step this way' could be reversed, leaving for'n'backwards to call a truce in direction.

A break in

With such a high-flown knack for pressing questions between pages, gestures in private-journal-speak, as distinguished from prima-donna-ditty, claim a great deal is happening here, but to top that, I must misquote myself when I say “it is not this that varies my aptitude for tatters” but a nestling diagonal stance, winking at compactness from a miscellaneous setting, grappling whodunit proposals like a hinterland tenant with sore happy valley eyes frosted to pimples from parting company at a break in anaemic clouds.

“Vagary expects regular attendance”:

this extravagant action anticipates habitual turnout:

again and again
routine turns in

another of life’s time sheets,
and yet no habit is as forming or formative as anticipation that topples action from its shelf life and spends thrift, frittering away caution.

Way this step

Vagary expects regular attendance, novelty prevails towards procedure, I hand-in the off-hand wishy-wash improvisation: a sort of a: bubblingly impromptu, sloppy with blended aspirations peculiar to open, gates stand their self-oration, fields imagine growing buts. [productive nor productive neither, is often too strifely to come across meeting] circle in a living suited to best mannerisms, picture a completing of suspiciousness, my cantankerous amateur me. [Step this way]

Butterfingers

To say that inclination is rarely threadbare may be so but when dropping a line crowds to a halt, dribs and then drabs funnel towards sabbatical and the hosting of fickle encores complements nothing more than zilch.

Makeshift

Teeming with occasional tantamount-s [there is, sporadically, a little that is equal to the teem within] it is this that varies my aptitude for tatters [by tatters I really do mean the bits and pieces that write themselves into quick comebacks] before the rush of vain smothers in, and I substitute each step with a sprinkling of dedication [which is not up to it, but makes up for], left in close proximity to earlier astonishments [contagious perhaps] and take up intrepid idleness, inventing evidence with which to probe bemusement [morsel collection] – consider the scale of it – with my finger on resist, confident all can be abandoned in place of missing details, a final version of antidote single-handedly absorbs itself.

Downhill rinser

'I' slaloms to 'S' in the cranky wring of self-procrastination

The allusive 'I am'

In the blur of indirectness I am at once within dexterous reach and without conclusion;

– that is to say: being under the influence of meander, I have some handy doubts;

– that is to say: I am allusive when it comes to haze, but if you touch me I won’t end

11

Is it that “I am” was aroused and depended on you to suspend it, or suspend everything else that could only sigh at blind imitation, sighted half in, half out of untroubled lamp light. Sure, there is a saying that doubling the I doesn’t square off any corners, but even so, a rotund imagination helps, if just to roll away with itself.