in astronomical units

under my eyelid all the long summer

grit from the forgotten pyramid


my grasswe(e)t toes too long to trod over any meringue


a golden bubble chases the pigs

while Nobody plots


late unrhymable light my splitting shoe the same


Her trilling toes through

morning-star-wet grass


over calm water an orange concierge ogles a pint of rhyme

What solar-powered syntax will break through the city’s thick walls later wielding a heavy pen he stumbles never to blink again

But the pen won’t start so the precious possibility with a suitcase secretly packed disappears beyond the hill

Where the music comes from on those nights though despite his best attempts we left feeling as though we hadn’t eaten at all