An Imagist #poem Ruined The poet stared his quarry down, Felt sure it would relinquish It's essence (as per Ezra Pound), To start what he could finish. A glass of water on a shelf, Mundane, yet beautifully so. With the glass's gaze upon himself The words began to flow. The poet set forth with vigour and health, Struck paper with his pen. But the glass exploded, broke the shelf: Spontaneous combustion strikes again.

Rain Rain hits the windshield Minuscule barrage on glass Wiper uppercut

For The 911 'Jumpers' can'tbreathecan'tbreathecan'tbreathe air why are we leaning another plane ohshitohshitnottheothertowernowhy probably another coming my way maybe not but do I want to risk it no I am my own man I won't let these fuckers decide that for me don't look down fuck it look down what are you scared what will the kids think you gotta be a role model even now the news is probably watching the building come down have they heard yet whole city knows this shit's coming down big time look at them all down there running they've got a choice why not me NO stay focused you're in control brace jump lastwordstimebettermakeitgood not that anyone's listening IloveyouIloveyou stay safe make sure they remember their daddy god bless the u s of fucking a for saving my ass in this ILOVEYOUILOVEYOUILOVEYOUILOVEYOUILOVEYO-

A Revelation Time stops. Or is irrelevant now. Centuries of chasing, squandering, saving, killing, running, cheating, Have come to nothing. If there were rivers still, they would run dry. Mountains, crumble. Governments, fall (far too stable now we bow to the bureaucracy). Immortal souls signed away in double carbon copy crumbling to dust. If there were rivers still. The Revelation has rung, clear and screeching in our ears, and we don't know what to do now. Now we have realised that we cannot eat money.

The Night Shift My brittle mind groans. The clock patiently reaches around for it's hands While mine scribble, dazed In the fake toobright light. Time doesn't fly, it slumps, like an old man dragging his feet, Measured in words now. Counting up the seconds to sunrise or bed And the end of my self-inflicted endeavour.