pink foam
dripping with sunlight
coalesced into pebbles of glass
with minuscule swirls
that you step on
and pass.
a fan
the color of flan
crisply cut like a chip full of stripes
lying down on the ground
in the sand.
tiny cones
full of ice cream
vanilla
into strawberry
melting into peaches and cream
or cappuchino
into chocolate
into blueberry
open your mouth and eat with your eyes
the waves never stop
in our lives
gnarled, indigo twists
abruptly
cut
at the edges.
And so it's happened. My blog has been degenerating into poetry for months now - possibly from the very beginning. I can't be bothered to write a proper introduction or glue my paragraphs together anymore, I've been writing "sketches" instead, but even those are starting to bore me - why put a verb in a sentence if you can just throw in a noun with an epithet?
Below – 
the old university
crouched down
arms falling to the ground in columns
porticoed shoulders
chests tattooed with graffiti
pink and ochre skin peeling off in white patches
blood quick as ever:
through the arteries of streets and corridors
run feet and engines
cars, bikes, motorcycles, buses
students, mothers, businessmen, cats
meow and bark and screech
and it is alive.
Above –
I stand alone
just me and slightly dizzying
peace and quiet
orange roofs – plasters concealing old age
stuck on with cubistic fantasy
this is the way it is
and it is beautiful.
