A world away and howling wind and snow befit the dreary day when strike so swift the daylights thinned to tear me from your shining ray.

Foam from fissures flies freer when pushed upward by sulphorous steam. Steam cannot be shackled, cannot be seen nor held - it sears worse than red-hot iron brands one marked "dreamer", another "loser", another "winner". Where these brands would burn your label plainly, steam would indiscriminately boil your face off until all that is left is a window to your bare thoughts.

Remember when we fought past that mud in the pitch black set camp, absorbed fire heat into each other's flickering faces slept in parallel and woke to a new, foreign, sunlit world? Remember when we explored the old church graveyard the decaying lichen-painted stones bending toward the hill erosion threatening to bare forgotten bones? Remember wondering if archaeologists, uncovering an eternally sleeping couple could confuse his tibia for hers, her femur for his?

When a dark grey dawn grows to a deep gold morning and the speed-blurred trees begin to inhale their twelve hours of sunshine and a solitary bus traces a ribbon of concrete through a vast, uniform wilderness and the solitary passenger isn't where he's going, nor where he's been, but rather some dark grey region between them; and the whole world feels like it's in some sort of impenetrable stasis as if the bus is caught in an infinite loop neverending wheels neverending road: The passenger fee...

An afternoon parking-lot setting sunshine and springtime air permeate unmoving cars waxed atypical blossomed leaves marionetting Deep in the fathoms of slumber, each of the cars a goliath dreaming of pavement and petrol without a load to encumber

A lone albatross, I sift through the drifting semaphore cloud breaths that you cast, vaporous seeds, into my soundless skyscape. Below, waterways trace diagrams of your organs - tarry lymphatic systems, winding intestines, floodplain lungs. I dream of engineering the circumvention of your many false positives. I dream of abandoning the search for your fading contrails. I dream of assuming the dew-wet grass blades that advise your nude ankles.

I've ever harboured this toy compulsion to eat a popsicle, and then, lips unnaturally coloured, freezing to near numbness, slick with artificial flavour, kiss.

He hefted a long cedar spear uncovered in the still-steaming foundation of the arsoned synagogue his gaunt, heaving body and the strangely unseared shaft tracing a delta against the pitiless churning horizon. His steps on the ruined flagstones though weak, were deliberate the execution of his course seemed far more crucial than his imminent and wildly foreseeable martyrdom more tangible than air which held stormclouds together. The altar, a hideous gnarled pedestal of hawthorn, gristle, and t...

Rolls of thunder made the foundation tremble that night - the pantheon's judgement announced by its tympani and some vast Orwellian array of rumbling tank treads, an army dispatched to proselytize, over my crushed bones, the shameful error of my ways and the unequivocal weight of my indiscretion.

Imagine if rent were paid by hour of occupancy, not by month. We'd abandon our homes for days we'd thrive on excuses to explore. We would be the most triumphant transients. We would swing from the masts and worship the horizon.