Not to be me

An immense city,
murders the motives
within heavens strike
of floundering life
off alien shores.

A catastrophe of ambition,
burning paradise - etched onto
the side of sky breaking erections,
shaking with a coming end -
of all apologies.

There is a world and a way.
A crumpled-up landscape to cascading
rivers of dreams, set careering out
of the pure perspective of rainbows,
ending everywhere in unseen

yearning arcs that pull on the fabric,
that cry out for more to be seen than
is unseen, to all of the outward projections
of imagining magically, tragically,
erratically rolling in seams

that hold us together,
that comment on the weather.

Dash this droplet of desire
across dry stones and tire of trying -
rile my imagination and let me be
for the moment broken across
some microscopic mountain range.

Gleaming, this light is pleasing
to permeate every level I can sink to
to dream to and all those I can't.

There is something always,
to cast across higher - always desire -
to dream and be seen, to flee and be felt,
to crash into reality, screaming at it -

not to be me.

by Gareth Rosser

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