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 Meeting Mike Tsouglis

I won't stop working, my rope

is braiding at one end while we giggle undone at the other

wantonly

just like the universe.

Busy as mineral rock

I've sung along in scars.

Floating on a vacuum

we are astral debris wrapped in our own gravity...

without complaint, or trails of critique.

Our relations are complex, avoid generally

planetary crash and burn.

That too is work.

Mankind bets the keenest gardeners.

Plans made while dinner cooks

in a bright Hawaiian shirt.

Troops march along the petal of a lily

squadrons of fried eggs lift.

Gravity is gravy.

All of this - ecology...

the computer and I

Kmart socks and Hassidic beard

randy dotards and a packaged harbour...

working.

The intersection

of this point/

weather turns on a crossing sign.

Mankind bets the lot.

Are you working?

An arrangement to meet,

detailed explanations.

Two neighbours share signatures

on the latest small hope

corralled on paper.

We shake hands

like men,

the parliament of palms.

Dumbstruck under the sun,

we spin in the orbits of children.

Cats encircle the afternoon

only heaven could surprise.

Sipped

Sydney wanted fresh

but sick and blemish

had etched that day.

Then our eyes were healed -

drank the black tincture

of a harbour seconded by night,

fettled under starsplay.

The Polruan Bell

Winter is a circle

the sounds of this territory

are crack of bone,

wire cages of heat and wool.

Steamed tearooms are like mothers

we spend in stasis

open door slice

the fairest stars.

Leaf around together

smirk at a storm

ruins in our capsules

Plymouth to Looe

chasms of rail.

The lazy faith of the last bus

cerebellum on pasture

sheep about the cliff top

embittered brick and plastic shelter.

Feet are tamed,

we ride them before the deluge

the noise of clarity

a goal... home

and that balloon of coffee

burnt ideas

bandage and red effulgence.