the last sin
  pale ashen sky
a bleary eye
clouds of recurring screams...
i am a zoo
  an octopus leviathan
tentacles into an ocean
of unformed emotions...
syphilis and love  
  syphilitic pall
stifles the clear blue
i contort...
shell and pearl
  amidst highs and lows
in life's ocean flows
a shell peony-mouthed...
i am an unmarried mother
  fed on stings
of barbed milk morality
my child-plankton...
the lovers
  cell upon cell
bridge of their union
hung on the pillars...
  ogre of age
and time cavil
at a warm picture...
the young today
  innocence thaws
at the altar
of ambition...


38000 feet above the earth in rarefied sky sipping Australian white wine with peach aroma he peers down the window of his Virgin Atlantic flight to Washington the aircraft was above the mighty Atlantic Ocean near the northeast of Canada and they were approaching Greenland the almost fabled land named by Eric the Red who explored the icy island in late tenth century it was warmer then the captain had alerted them to the visual extravaganza that was about to unfold he sees amazing pictures of snow mountains ice caps and glaciers dot the island but hey not an inch of green this can’t be Greenland he can’t see any forests in the world’s largest island occasional dwarf trees in the south maybe he strains to see a polar bear or a musk ox or a polar wolf spotting a yeti may really be stretching your luck a bit too far the pictures are crystal clear and so near he could reach out and just about touch the cool surface ah he could feel water drops form misty diamonds on his window at some places the thickness of the ice sheet reaches 14000 feet he wonders if he were to drop down in the icy wasteland and stay alone for a while cohabit with nature in her pristine glory what would it be like maybe he would go fishing shrimp cod halibut or if you like salmon it would be one hell of a solitary moment frozen in eternity after some time they were flying over the city that never sleeps en route to DC as the aircraft approaches Dulles international airport he is baffled by a long stretch of Virginia Pines with their fallen needles sheer poetry in light brown now this looks better he thinks but he can’t help going back to Greenland that exists deep within us that lonely patch of wilderness that’s waiting to be touched but is difficult to penetrate so we go on with our defences and the ice inside just melts in bits and pieces like lonely icebergs we continue to float without a clue to where we are heading raiding lighthouses breaking ships searching for that elusive fjord we are coming home mom

(15 April 2005)