To Chris

I know a boy called Chris,

Whose very hard to dis,

He never takes anything a miss,

And always gets the jist.

Bird God

“ There is no test,

Only flight and rest.”

From The Ferry

The sun shines on the sea,

Like a taught skin,

On the back

Of an ancient animal.

Large, it undulates,

Like a conversation between,

Two massive banks,

Lost in a continual horizon.

Peaks of white foam,

On cross hatched waves.

Lit wrinkles of a wise old lady,

Contrast in moods of blue.


The gulls follow the ferry,

With brains like dolphins,

Hearts like lions

And wings of their own.

Night Tear

A medicinal tear,

In the nocturnal night,

Runs like an orange,

Off the page of the sky,

Into the depth of a grey cloud.

Swallowed by the wind.

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