
before we can spec the ground floor studio
the verdict’s been posted by the tween
the view from arthur's point
ain’t worth a million bucks
if you can't catch wifi
for a single insta
in the vale
brutalist realty
for century 21

sometimes it seems
there are only two divergent universes
the one where she can do no right
inhabited by thetans their engrams
and hubbubs over hubbard
the one where she can do no wrong
with tales of madmen
handmaids and shining girls
at the head of lake wakatipu
overcast and clouded
it's nevertheless clear
which one we inhabit

Is it your ancient Etruscan walls, melon tombs
monumental funerary altar
tabula cortonensis
strategic control of territorial swathe
I too have my Etruscan necropolis, Roman baths
central position
anchoring Creta senesi, River Osborne
and torrent Copra
weren’t we both then
largely abandoned by history
suborned by wealth subdued by battle
slumbered through a count of centuries
what sly whimsy decreed that you be
favoured destination for spending sprees
while a-straddle the autostrada
i am the one to fade away
Under the Tuscan Sun
this is the part of the walk I mark when the sky grumpy all afternoon could just as easily clear that instant when it could still be fine or storm familiar as your up or down daily attending that turn from balmy to squall that instant when it growls and downs its load upon the families scurrying for shelter that instant when i go the other way rush into the rain as I have always fallen into your pain

black-winged stilts i’ve read
are known to be
collaborative home-makers
and gregarious waders
at the borehole we see them
daddy and mummy long legs
skipping skating skitters
tilted silted trippers


Karma is deprived the driver’s seat
when the engine stalls in the morning chill
we take a substitute car to faux Eagles Nest
where we must wait too long for a meal
he’s glimpsed only once more that day roadside
at cordyceps store where we do get a good deal

Ngawang fast walks 20 clicks before breakfast
returns in time to guide a stroll of guests
he’s been a monk a soldier
an 8-times snowman trekker
these days chasing the tariffs
to send his 3 girls to school
working for milk toast money
past the peak he pulls away
giving me space to descend the valley alone
there in the flurry of prayer flags
an orange butterfly leads me down


new year’s day 2016, wakayama province