Bhagavad Gita
Same as it is
Same as it ever was
Behind Proust
Approaching Evelyn Waugh
Pennies from Heaven
From five to eleven
Just too many coincidences
Sixth and seventh senses tell me
Remonstrate, castigate
Harden up the will
Forge some strata
Put some clear water
Between the you and the you
Flags in the park
Bring light to dark
Reflection, stark realisation
Miles of orange cloth
Unveiled, curtailed
Sails for a city’s soul’s salvation
Creation, a core-declaration
Stores of ideas, enthusiasms
Making something solid
Plastic, clay, vision
Monumental decision
Open to derision
Abounding in joy
Abounding with joy
Knocked about, bruised edges smoothed over
Rough diamond, a touch too smooth
Shaped by all that society could muster
Trusted too many pamphlets, too many books
Stripping bare is not an alternative
For the king already without his clothes
Wave crash
Whiplash, onward unknown soldier
Wave crash
Sea-splash, oceans growing older
Salt water drains across the bitumen tarmac
Lit by starlight, by streetlight going nowhere
Rain water drains into rivulets
Hiding moss grown stones, rolling over
Wave crash
Pebbledash, inward, homeward, boulder
Wave crash
Cars smash, societies apart, growing colder
I don’t know when I lost you
Or when I lost myself
Beneath the crescent moon
Bathed by clear night stars
I don’t know when I lost you
Or when you lost yourself
