Monday, 21 November 2011


cracks open the sky a ragged scar from sunrise to sunrise as all those maybes those quantum ghosts pour out on steeds of jet black night waving their swords of pure white light

kisses you on the lips the lips and grabs you by the hips the hips

runs through the fields of tomorrow laughing at the joy of just being alive at the possibilities inherent in a blade of green in a future glimpsed in a fragmentary dream

builds topless towers of idiom breaks formal language on wheels of real

sits patiently by the bed until some drowning breath lifts up its shroud and dark dust settles with one last squeeze walks out head high to few regrets debts paid plans made

is a wind swept dangerous disco dancer who never never never takes no for an answer

Russell J Turner – November 2011

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