2012.01.10 — Crunchy cereal (A River of Stones#1-10)

Crunchy cereal
soft yoghurt, cut banana
cinnamon coffee.

2012.01.09 — Early morning moon, high above the high-rise (A River of Stones#1-09)

Early morning moon, high above the high-rise
and cloud breaks. I sip hot coffee in my moving car,
look out into the dark for sleepy commuters jaywalking.

2012.01.08 — The window keeps me dry from the wind blown rain. (A River of Stones#1-08)

The window keeps my clothes from getting wet from the wind blown rain.
I touched it — the window.
It feels cool and the heat of my fingers leaves ghosts
the wash of rain does not touch.

2012.01.07 — Say do you know my name? (A River of Stones#1-07)

Say do you know my name?
From the nearby mountain I heard
only the crow's kaw-kaw.

2012.01.06 — The rhythmic drumming (A River of Stones#1-06)

The rhythmic drumming
of the ancient rainforest
wanted to be heard.

2012.01.05 — Who is it that can call that creativity? (A River of Stones#1-05)

Who is it that can call that creativity?
Cried the drunk
as she canted against expressionism.
And besides that, she raged,
I bet no one has done this before,
while struggling to pee on the hanging Kandinsky.

2012.01.04 — The old black bag, now faded and worn (A River of Stones#1-04)

The old black bag, now faded and worn,
struggles to hide senescence, decrepitude, decay.
The moon, awash behind heavy cloud and dark rain,
smiles brightly in the sea of black and ancient light pricks.