about that
never ending happening
a sad stone’s throw away
from me,
do the math between the points,
head to tail

Avoid a change mid-motion
& sway only
a touch further out
each time
a new orbit,
but the same perfume

take mortality, for example,
how metaphors doctor its spin

As if we could bookmark days by
the fidgeting eye who breathes at cost,
a centrifugal economy
between zero and no hours

walks up and down Old Kent
asking the grass in the park
what a summer it has been!
so much green washed away
before the clouds.

The whole UK is a sad yellow patch on Google Earth
*overheard in Morrisons*
well i say
the ground owes nothing
to summertime standards
to someone's feel-good symbolic order.

A world with no ground will
need no symbols.

More green meets the eye than any other colour,
and yet, Sad Yellow,
did you ever thank the blues
for the grass turf’s green?