“we’re inversions of one another.” | another one of those revisions where

difference is reduced to metaphor


soundscape, or, the paradox of a ‘sound escape’

i fell to your feet in a clashing avalanche.

my body, a boulder, blasted into shards.


the sound of dynamite delighted you.


when i crashed into your quarry,

i  made sure my ruins boomed.

“Involuntarily, I glanced seaward – and distinguished nothing except a single green light, minute and far away”

 – F. Scott Fitzgerald, ‘The Great Gatsby’


Across the digital bay

a beacon, small and green,

flashes, and is gone.


The current: silent, static,

but for a spare grey tick –

the crest of curious interest


not piqued enough to peak

and break the radio-waves.