There is cinnamon in the wine,
a carmine swirl, for taste
while mouthing

a song of ambivalence,
played loudly
with decadence, like tripping

over existentialism,
a crash, almost
with some worthy meaning.

Incoherence, with splashes
of colour, turned
to rage, and other
hateful hate

and such paralyzing
griefs.

#poetry #TashPoetry #writing

Watching television
for 600 calories,

above the whir
of a climbing treadmill.

I can’t hear them —
the voices,
the actors miming;

the good guy in the white hat
always unequivocally
distant.

Off the tread now, into a different
stasis —
stretching the tendons,
unable to watch,
belly down, not lip reading,

the tinnitus, not helping
with the shaking, the verbal
memory,

the bruising past, nor
a past of bruises,
undiscerning.

Push up,
It’s time to push up.

#poetry #TashInTheClouds #TashPoetry

Ghosts don't glide, they walk.

See, there's one next to you right now.
Tip to toe,
grounded and ungraved,
disinterested.

Pacing, in temporal remembrance.
Waiting, in the dead weather,
for their feet to leave
the ground,

steeped in forever,
not unlike you.

#poetry #TashPoetry #Tashintheclouds #writing

Blue skies and distemper,
a saturating storm
in the teacup
of God, or worse —

meaning Man,
always on the cusp
of a misnomer,

Sapiens, my arse,
knowing nothing
while breaking it all
the same,

Breaking it all;
all the same.

#poetry #Tashpoetry #TashInTheClouds #writing