When the grid collapses

Spires of grass stick through the sieve

Cities shrink back down

Bug-lights sizzle in the noonday heat

A bullfinch booms at dawn, then ponders –

Each song starts from scratch

Angry magmas sheen the streets

Interrogate the concièrge

Where are the solid citizens?

Time and time again

Our unreflective moments come back unalloyed

Our work mere déjà vu

Lovers interrupt

Each other before

They’re fully grasped

And those who trill the tongues of power

Are safe to fear all

directions will fall down

The tripping soul sails in its boat

Knew there were no solid shores

Expected waves at least

New writing spiders spin in coils

New music frogs deliberate

New pictures in the crow’s dominion

New amazing common sense

Cuts verse short –

Poem or unspeakable kingdom?