There are so many magic places in the world That can be found in your heart and in your dreams But we seldom visit these places of desire As we are nervous of our initial thoughts In most cases they will seem smaller than we imagined But as with a fine wine time is the…

You are awaiting my reaction but I do not move I think that you are now bored of this isolation Even the skies are beginning to darken as the day slips away The music of your poetry has faded and hangs without celebration     After the painting by Charles Mengin

Whilst waiting for a train I found a bee on the platform The tiny creature appeared to be dead but I knew better As I could see it breathing in a settled way What ails you my friend   I asked of the insect    It did not answer me straight away as its stare…

I have never ridden the tranquil horse But I am told that it swims well I have often watched it cross the channels near my home Ridden bareback and naked by my friends towards the distant sands I have never felt the need to join them as I ride with no authority

I suppose that they must have been dead for about a year as their bleached bones lay randomly in the sand Their wagon had lost most of its shape and was unrecognisable apart from a blackened apron As I explored this pathetic theatre I found a damaged prayer book which had belonged to one of…

Existence is of little interest to me except on days when the dusts of reality are mingled with the magic sands    I had written this on a poster that was promoting a male deodorant    It had been borrowed from Proust but I had disguised this fact    As only the switched on minds would have…

At night if there is a bright moon the sands of the desert turn blue The result is quite beautiful and it is often the last thing I see before I sleep I have isolated myself in this simple hut as I have grown tired of the world My hut can be quite cold at…

The shifting red sands always return My hut is never clear no matter my toil When the winds change my home is almost hidden I fear slow suffocation but sleep very well

I am no longer alone  People are passing my hut in great numbers Yet none speak to me Am I witnessing the end of history

I feel that I have slept for a number of years As the desert that surrounds my hut is mostly green Mysterious birds circle quietly in the moist skies And delicate perfumes bewitch my senses