Life is a pasquinade
A palimpsest on a page
experience repeated
and recycled.
Reasoning fails
except to see patterns
that fade.
Like the afterlines
of a plastic bag
carried on the wind.

Through choking depths of unseen sights
Turns a fabled fish mid swim
And he feasts on any beast he likes
Does the mighty briny king
Forgotten to the world of men
Just a story on the lips
Of fishing folk that love to send
A shiver through the ships.

Eyes of pale celadon
refulgent in the dusk
lips of skin so thin they grin
around the tips of tusk

Jagged saw-like teeth
beneath a sagging beastly jaw
the putrid reek of flesh and cheek
he's gobbled - nights before

His pointed nose will point his toes
when he snuffs you shuffling by
the fright enough will be so tough
your legs will lignify!

And once he's done he'll click his tongue
his mood enhanced by food
he'll walk home late and ululate
his deepest gratitude

An impression of my footprints in the snow
And roads to walk before I fall
I wonder where my footprints go
and were they even there at all

I heard a call; a call I know
My heart has bled me not to leave
Lulled by the silence; held below
By shadows you would not conceive

In drab of night I'll say hello
And hold you close into my chest
I know I owe you all I know
But know I never loved you less