cut

feels good to be free of all that gummed up paper,

amazing how the lava sets, suddenly all that rushing red is rough,

all that new wrought iron, is waste, is rust...

but then I cut some old cord,

some minor albatross,

and

I feel light, I feel limber,

like heavy timber floating down stream,

all of that gravity melted,

as I float like a bohemian...

shit happens, but when it happens,

there are ways, there are means.

moving house

little bits of the wall paper come off in my hand,

little fragments, rivets, screws, tumbling towers of dice,

vacuum up the crumbs because thats how ya get mice,

my god this world is sea and sand, sifting the pieces of it

through my hand, tumbling towers of dice.

I'm walking through decades at a time, blinking away whole days,

my god, what a way to live, sitting pretty.

life gets better, you get a new toaster, I get some more space,

a jumble sale, a car boot sale, a little rain, a little hail,

in July? but mneh March was like really hot,

be thankful for the silver lining, you can't unget what you got,

the atrophy is coming, so just try and stop the rot.

on a spit

life is a breathtaking blow,

extinguishing wishes on a cake,

heart stopping lowing croaks,

twisting to the beat pointlessly,

sitting here sweating teeth, glancing down.

because love is like rain on fish scales.

THIEF!

This was a conscientious theft,

chalk blown on lasers,

a clear path to swag,

you walked along the wall,

clear around my peripheral,

lifted a heart clear above your head,

and walked out.

oh me!?

crest fallen as a cracked chest,

deflated, lonely and left,

under duress, over reached,

stretched,

..I got caught out....

flooding the mountain tops

sparkling pillars of free flowing nothing,

tumbling out of all the words you swore to me,

you swore to me? what a battle.

I'm on the range and rattled,

refusing my saddle,

but can't you see?

you could flood this whole town,

I saw it in a grainy film,

where all the world was broken down,

where mice and mops and wizards almost drown.

flat

the dull din as it sinks in,

there is nowhere left to delve,

no more memories to shelve,

readied for the next time,

when quiet recollection,

floods back, old revelations,

new light on old situations.

no, there is nothing more to know,

we are burnt out and broken,

what a blow.

cloy teeth in the morning,

a night of receipts drowned to mulch.

boarding glued fast under foot,

a rat gnawing its ankles.

the half seeing eye,

of my chain mail memory,

covering my thoughts like a veil,

i'm protected by careful selection.

work

In the morning,

all of the flooding thoughts

that beat down on me

and sweat out of my pours,

will be as distant as some

blearily viewed love, across a table.

Like light flickered out, drowned

at sunrise. A desk lamp left on, becomes obsolete,

and the thoughts that were wearily

conceived, in its gaze are forgotten,

and the broken up nights, are resented,

in the bleary middle of hard heartless day.

just bits

Chopped up, l ike p linths, broken, d is interested, bone idyl, nothings ,

... .bt no thing, matters, to matter, matter of fact, is that.

punching out

You punch heart shapes into rose petals,

one after the other, breaking waves through the centre,

thudding your poignancy, your love an out pouring,

raining down symptoms like rain on an awning,

the love sighing through you, you're resolute, but yawning,

so overt, so damn hurt, man the hurt is just dawning.

prune

you've deserted me here,

wallowing in,

standing out,

waiting for the rain, a sad sack,

lying on a lay low,

floating on the chlorine field,

of some pool,

sustained throughout drought,

to keep tourism,

intact,

and, in fact,

because here, we lie,

beneath clear skies,

empty headed,

apathetic,

in fact,

we've earned this,

this land, that time,

and progress,

forgot.

once.

Once you read it back to me, and I saw the claw marks in my own working, the obscurity of my inner impulse, I saw that I was over egged and too gun ho.

I felt inferior, stinted, muddied.

Once you took it back for me and I saw my self incapable, you were unflinching, modest, tangible, against the white background of my pallid complacency.

I felt grateful, useless and spent.

Once you broke off a piece for me,

chewed it and spat it into my mouth, I nodded politely.

I bowed out...

I swan dived and broke my swan neck, sending shock waves to the tips of my toes through my long dancers legs, the queen of the lake dethroned, for lack of poise, after sliding out of her palace on the mud crust crest of a mud slide, flowing like all consuming lava, suffocating the dreams, the thoughts, the soul.

Once you flicked water on my back because the sun had burnt me, and I writhed like a de-limbed spider, but a flicker, deep inside, felt some semblance of peace. Because once, and again, and again, and again, until the end.

fireflies ain't so hot.

All together in a paper cup, burning faster than dandelions.

Sparking spurs kicking up to new inventions, kicking up a fuss about it,

pointing out a wrong then drawling out a diagram of what they'll do about it,

unable to see that they are no longer flitting pretty around the garden. Beacons of nothing,

burning on and off like lighthouses, safely warding nothing well away from nowhere, they are...

trapped, in a cup, and I put them there, and although i've given them air, holes, grass...

they are burnt out whispers.

Is it possible

Is it possible, that all of this, momentum, all of this progress,

rising steadily towards indefinite peaks, like cultured experiments,

in petri dishes, shown warmth, given light...

all of this society,

for which we should award due praise, for graduating us,

sending us sadly forth,

onwards, always upwards,

bolder and burning more brightly,

with the carefully planned passing of each day,

is it possible, that...