air flows over everything


spring time
everything crawling
& out
as the wind doze blow
my sad in festering joyous self
through wires
musicality draws life onwards endlessly
the way typing this out is a naturally budding thing
Am I a plant? I wish I was a plant.
I think I am a plant.
reaching towards the sun?
everything downpours eventually
sew this is all just water flowing
melting freezing melting pouring pooling
this is air
makes a sound

music reaches directly into the softcore of my being

dissecting every line
speaks into the centre of my bleating heart
why would i ever stop listening?
being seen. being heard. being truly sound.
that’s the rub.
glut of stories untold untelling

life is beautiful and in puddles


wee fondle and finger the absent image
it still burns

falling still


Great emptiness as

simple as that went

So straight before-


had not been able

then not being idle

went absent away


Now faith is not what we

hereafter have we have a

world resting on nothing


Rest was never more than

abstract since it is empty

reality we cannot escape


from “Souls of the Labadie Tract” by Susan Howe

skyspat out a little flame

birdspiral spit
detail from birdspiral painting

warming mind

swaying girth
spanning time
brief pockets of sun
(the streaming kind)

lantern domes make muffled sounds
(momentarily illuminating mine)

flickering embers in campfire’s bowl
little lapping, licking flames
jamming survival in newborn coal
this fire is never tame

-jessica gabriel (2008)