High Stone

Foreboding clouds, colts of sin
Dark gobblers hurl rain on Mary
Her cloak turns pale, alone she stands
Blind boulders shine, moss sings

Dear, you're turning me into Milton
Oh, how I want to, want to commit!
Hiss like a golden spittle on a stove
Your resurrection, my ascension in steam

Snowing blood, the blue is gone
Trees whisper of moonlit Antichrist
His dirty shoes, love-murky eyes
Remember the whores of Babylon

In those sad days without cell phones
Pigs got caught in the wire
Lo! Potatoes nesting in the road
Are they a symbol of my desire?

The path became sweeter, she's a muse
Scented with drying fresh wood
Oak bread and cakes poured over with custard
Insensible dreams caw at buzzards

A Wayward Church

The world has changed dramatically
There's more comfort, less people
A steady drone of culmination has passed

The whole horizon is occupied by you
Ladders and bridges in no man's land
Remind me of my body and the wall

My emptiness is a gift to blind children
too much alive, too much aware
Neuschwanstein on a rock between your prayers

A supersonic jet has missed the moon
followed by the sun, it's heading for eternity
exactly the distance between me and you

Lilacs purple and white read letters
The spring of cards lands on your face
Its vortex encompassing blue peasants

Pop up in the sand of a deserted dream
After midnight where overthrown benches
Two wet birds leave forks in the lamp of light


- the title is inspired by an Anglo-Saxon/Gothic village church in Little Missenden, Buckighamshire. It is one of the superbly preseved ancient structures in the valleys of the Chiltern Hills.