Tuesday, 27 December 2011
I wake up shaking.
The heat of your name.
The weight of it the same.
The world has laid down sticks,
and leaves, to make me fall again.
The wind up as I catch my breath,
and call you back.
Attack, defend, attack.
The breadth of it has cordoned me.
A hiding hold.
To bury me.
At the bottom of the sea.
Sustained by magic.
Contained and tragic.
Sailing by attrition.
No more drawn breath.
No turning back.
I held my hands.
My knuckles cracked.
I cried for all the love I lack.
Thursday, 22 December 2011
knowing sad heaps of them are lost,
I have written your name on the backs of countless receipts,
waded through the misdirection of your words,
sat alone behind a screen, remembering, remembering,
you weigh so heavy, more and more lately,
given credence by the distances of time,
holding up my elements, aside from myself,
a half read novel, the contents of my pockets,
fuse failed rockets to the moon.
Thursday, 15 December 2011
proclaiming grand tragedy, lame lamb sighs,
crying into your cable knit sweater,
lying spread eagle on your floor,
propping it shut, head jamming the door,
we are subjective recluses,
on our exclusive grand tour,
I'll block out the others,
I'll tell you much more,
more than the sadness I told you before,
I'll bleed out your sympathy from my bed on the floor.
Monday, 12 December 2011
Towed here in the milk light of grey morning,
something between us ebbing out,
trying to clutch up the wet sand as it sweeps to nothing,
becoming some uncertain solution,
life it seems, is a dilution,
a drafted letter to a love thought lost,
a bottle of unassigned ink,
the hand set to poisoning the wild sea,
as old ideas are cast free.
I see the great divide,
between our past and your future,
and my pen bleeding out,
into an abyss of burnt out conversations,
the hold I had,
no longer there,
though I hold your hand,
it is like wet sand.
Sunday, 11 December 2011
a holding gate, casting shadows on the dead,
the sheets, the walls, our eyelids, are lined like paper,
guiding hands, landing strips, leading questions,
the sorrow of bland sanity has struck me to my bed,
remedy oh remedy, send sweet pilgrims to my soul,
please I need the charms of love to realign my head,
the time at least to understand the things you've said,
the last words, the first, all the lists of good and bad,
live wires now dead.
Tuesday, 6 December 2011
there is a starting pistol shooting you into a padded cell,
there is heat, and soft wet darkness, ready to wrap up the night in foil,
there is a bitter inflection, abating my whole hearted flinging of my whole hot heart,
there is a fleck of blood on your lower lip,
there are three whole sentences from our conversation I can not recollect,
there is a point at which we are no longer reconcilable,
there is a person I remember whom I love with three quarters of my heart,
there is a house somewhere in my home town where I live happily with that person,
there are countless mediocre dimensions,
there is one where I am there for you,
there is one where everything I say shakes you,
there is one where everthing I do hurts you,
there is one where I am pawing at your heart, trying to wake you,
there is one where I am breaking you out of a padded cell,
there, there are people cheering our names.
Monday, 5 December 2011
good luck, lucky one, held on to my pockets,
as the wood creaked, we were too much burden,
so uncertain, brains divided like curtains,
drawing rings with pebbles,
perfect circles scattered at random,
cutting up our reflection,
choking up in front of the mirror,
floating further, down a river,
charms tied with thin string,
you are a moon,
I am a boat,
you say the word,
you tell me where to float.
Monday, 28 November 2011
Sunday, 13 November 2011
yolk everywhere everywhere everywhere,
skirting around everything everything,
hate notes sent remotely, you are everywhere,
there is a certain finality, like a dead end,
I'm full to the brim and
literally pooling around you,
tearful, teetering, punch drunk and stuttering,
was it a different serious of accidents,
to the back of some cave,
all tucked up, all folded in.
Wednesday, 2 November 2011
burnt out wicks from candles, stubbed impulses,
crumbs spilling out onto jumpers, hearts penned up in idioms,
brains wracked for synonyms, madness clasping our hands,
tender hands, calm, gently suggestive, innuendo sustained,
much longer than any thought could be trained,
heat seeking missiles wrapped up on themselves,
tail chasers and cross faders.
Wednesday, 12 October 2011
vowels and subtlety howls
through edgeless pages
raspy tell tales
and tall men
with dipped heads,
and silver tongues
through tight spaces
and up elevator shafts,
into swank apartments,
into private compartments,
that they grasp all of the lightness of your lungs,
in a handshake.
Wednesday, 5 October 2011
with tears and tears
and baskets down river, up stream, full of futures,
lying next to cold bodies,
crafting hollow shells out of oak cabinets,
in love with the sight of a mud slide
that i'm in the direct path of,
sumptuous banquets at my wake,
sweetly made promises of an end
promises made to myself
in the cold arms of the night,
sweet promises of ghost written novels
and sell out shows.
as this all slips and comes to blows.
Sunday, 2 October 2011
bright sparks from broken matches, burnt out, stubbed out cigarettes,
hung heads, broken hearts and course, spat regrets, no I regret nothing,
I fret nothing, back and forth, pacing rooms and reaching into letter boxes,
desperate reclamation of misspelt, unintended intentions,
fretting up and down in patterns, unguided raw invention,
I dreamt I saw you, cried because you weren't there and did nothing,
it kills me.
Wednesday, 7 September 2011
Thursday, 1 September 2011
Monday, 29 August 2011
At times I overlook myself, and when it all catches up,
it crisps up in the back of my eyes, it clicks into view,
the misdirection of so many encounters, the built up frustrations,
of so many misunderstood conversations, so many misheard mumblings,
as though i’ve been tumbling, and it catches up to me,
and I catch my self, I overhear grumblings, to some unknowing stranger,
some unguarded transparency, waves that crest, threaten to break,
peaks that amount to nothing, and I catch myself blushing.
Sunday, 28 August 2011
Thursday, 25 August 2011
Tuesday, 9 August 2011
Sunday, 7 August 2011
blinking blindly behind the scenes, groping for the greens,
fistfuls of dollars and lint, all smoked up after unknowable dreams,
platitudinous looks of longing, out into confused futures,
out over acres and acres and acres of nothingy farm land,
where they see themselves wrongly standing
and wringing the necks of chickens for hope, and for dignity,
with ironically soft hands,
from no work,
and some of them with hard hands
from work sites
and meeting over the table of hopelessness,
stabbing the gaps between their fingers,
dignity smoking itself under the table,
trying to forget something,
wracking brains to remember.