Plenty

The cups you fill for pleasure
Drain the heavens in one dry heave
Until the pale granite sky
Shines its broken stars back
Down the parsec-riddled dark
To another useless midnight.

An the Tree is Broken

‘Is chiel is tired.
There’s little watter
An the tree is broken.

always on the streets

always on the streets
rain

always we are told
there was sin
what we did
what we did not
just being born on this
the wrong side of wrath

The Leid an the Lingo

Gin I wis Doric but nae Glesca,
Or I wisna Dundee nor Fife, nor yet
I wis some teuchter bumpin his gums
Shooglin on a tractor for his pey,
Fit wid I be but a dour carl
Wi a rochsome orra gab
An in my rauchlin couthieness
Fin’ some wad glory in’t
File ithers lauch?

Orogeny

tides of stone
rising

above the earth
the sun and moon

in a heaven without gods nothing exists
but the necessity of their invention