There is a pandering,
a love to lose yourself;
a meandering in wistfulness and dream;
a waiting, a weight, like thinking
of the moon, in its perfect place.

La Luna scale gradient
exactly sized to fit between the sun.
There are connections to be made,
and things too small to know,
and beings that are too big to be seen.

There is this guy, from your position
in the local galaxy, there’s division
in the prophets, over mind as generated
by a brutal field Electric, binary
replicated in the way Compewta saves.

Or it’s something far more modern
then the modem to its slave
the shadow on the cotton
is the Sun’s work: yes or no?



Knowing when you’re thinking
is different from a thought:
the stillness is vibration:
the Off in part is On.

Tubes of heated sand,
polished two-way lenses,
a showing eyes planets
in the systems—

the Earth is as a grain of rice
beside a tennis ball
around the size of sunfish
compared to submarines

We are knowers, who do nothing,
have shrunken to the pin point
viewing water floating man
-kind a mammoth mannequin.

Saluting, like a clansman,
two fingers aristocracy,
like believers of the book
who utilise Scripture

to prove their picture
is correctness as it forms
never really noticing
in the feeling in the room

of a harmonised group
they’re in a closed loop
of self validation

& we’re seen to fumble on
like a disjointed dream.



Sheer perfect of the heart,
mad variety of spider,
doesn’t prove yr god
yet no blind disorder.

What is breathing water,
bodies reading sound,
the sightless and the Braille,
the deaf and their hands.

The Earth is as an island
as Fiji is to Earth.
The Ocean as to Fencing
as scrambled oxygen.

The atmosphere above us
isolated are
like a vivid Mirage
on the floating polyscopes

shaved glass polished, and a listening
gaze at other visage
we commit to never reaching.




3 thoughts on “IsIsIsn’tIsolated”

  1. Excellent imagery, and beautifully fluid pace – a jewelled rambling. I love this, Dean. It is probably one of the best things you’ve written that I have had the pleasure of reading.

  2. Second that, what a wonderful desrciption is this of the impossibles

    and things too small to know,
    and beings that are too big to be seen. As Mark says, the sounds are a feast.

Leave a Reply