from the shadowy purple realms
we coalesce to rise in spectral shapes,
taking forms that defy imagination,
as we shape this gothic realm
to suit our new reality.

we share the secret hungers
that define our darker sides,
the cauldron of our turbulent
and seething stormy fantasies
so barely hid beneath
our auras of urbanity.

and in this realm of chaos
where the laws of physics
redefine themselves
in strange and so bizarre contortions
there is one constant
that rides out this metaphysical inferno,
the caravel of thought that slips between
the gulf between,
that carries its precious cargo . . .

~ fireworm ~ 1998

  

For those with a vague interest in these things, I reside in Tasmania, that evocatively triangular State that hangs out at the bottom of Australia. It's the home of Tasmanian devils and a whole menagerie of marsupials (and other wildlife), and ex-home (or so it is said) of Tasmanian tigers.

Every now and again I pop into Bianca's Book of Poetry and occasionally post the odd scribbling there. If you have been there you may have come across them. If not, there are some selections here (water) and here (empty rooms). There are some other bits and pieces in the in-between world and impossibilities.

Clicking onto the lighthouse at the foot of the page will take you to a selection set in and around Beacon and Portlight Street, a fictitious place in which I like to dwell.

Use some discretion when visiting these pages, for I have an occasional penchant for the seamier side of life.

mikko

last updated by mikko; 13 November, 2001