I don't read for stories anymore

and did I ever

I love the most the lace of words

mandalas, weaves of moods

Decided, for a daily short endeavour 

to eat a paragraph or two

When the West forgot Asia

the fumade tinder box

ran out of fungi, or why else 

would we be so unluminous

Unpacking things I haven't seen

since that last house swap

I realise most everything I have

is designed to be sat with 

As if I've known deep inside

my love for speed this whole

time

As planets strip 

layers off me

I give up writing

my name in ice 

for I found a loophole 

to pull the known

through forgetting

Should have

I wish I did

But I'm here now

present

That's plenty

and also so 

beautiful