Saturday, 15 December 2012

The night is a shivering wreck curled up by your door,
eyes bleached blind by the light of a sun,
so distant from ours, so completely far,
she is a shadow of the lamb thing,
that once tripped around my room,
with shadows clipping merrily,
that carousel is doomed.

Monday, 10 December 2012

a hold

the night signs off with smoke and leather
sweating between the grains,
like the chalk residue of metal,
the powder still in your nose,
the ceiling and the walls fail together,
the carpet and the curtains melt with their stains.

We are empty alone but together,
there are funeral pyres in our brains,
little mausoleums burning eternal flames,
there are kisses wrapped in tin foil,
saccharine sweet prevails.

as the gun lit tip of the last wretched evening,
the last free unadulterated link in the chain,
peels off like ash before the window,
a pile of shit or guts or brains,
we are lying on the floor before ourselves
and I for one have gone insane.

Monday, 3 December 2012

the atlantic

There is an ocean pushing my hand away from you,
forming red spheres in the blue, popping as they come to,
and I'm left sifting the sea, left looking for you,
through hands wet and webbed with water,
as the clear sea is clouded with sand,
the blue is so deep that it is now black.

Were we not born in the same dream,
the same set of stubbed in tacks.
the same half delusion of grandeur,
the same poorly pasted up cracks.
were we not pushed out together,
to float, to drown, to swim back.