A Lunge for the infinite scarlet plains of dusk to summit through rivers into caves beyond dreams

(After William Golding's dreams of hanging)

Downbeat, tempo down
Crunching shards

Fake frown 
Under false light
Of magnolia shawls

How it dawdles and palls
Tempus Fugit
From fugitive strands
Badly lit
Ropes of pearl beads

Bands Noosing
Blue veins of a neck, a wrist
And a mouth cries 'shibboleth,
I'll break the world with my fist'


Your skin became my pale cloak
Mouth the noosed rope
On which I dangle
Ankles kicking south

And she's still the same
In a different place
With a different name
The waking moment crumbles
And I am the dust
Slipping the weave of the rope
Ankles kicking south