cut tethers, teeth bites, run lines,
dotting eyes, darting, crumbled,
led etch, you bet, we're made,
set up, run down, but near,
nearly, almost, but not,
cue me, stand me, slotted,
painted, uniform, tactful,
in tact, bright shine, painted grin,
brushed leather, well worn skin,
laugh lines, crow's feet, crooners,
no sooner, do I peel off, I turn,
return, back in, we cut,
bite through, separate,
build bridges, colonies aside,
isolating pride, but burnt,
lines run, two bleed to one,
candle wax on icing,
another year done.

away

the gestating wild, digests us awkwardly,
we're swaying at sea, cast by unfathomable tides,
many fathoms from our hopes, or supposed destiny.
what manifests is more tests and more tests,
of our patience, of our temper.
as tempests cast us rolling up or down hills,
at walls or over waterfalls,
truffles rotting unfound, diamonds crusted under mountains,
wood lice beneath flower pots,
tax rebates sent to houses we have long since moved out of,
golden opportunities, twinkles drawn on our sclera,
then erased in the wake of full calenders,
as our duties siphon us off,
away from our dreams.

Let loose dreams that never set,
pile me with old motors,
discarded cards we should've bet,
and though my lips are cracked and red,

its from screaming "I'm not dead!"

butting on without a head,
as the night takes hold and sets to led,
 as the world is washed with red socks
and the pink soaks through the thread.

work

office desks, piled with regrets,

tedium, and blood let, as night lets us linger,

on what we aught to get, 

out of outcomes not yet set.

Burn's

I knew then, that it would be no crime,
drinking the glen, you borrowing verses,
to lend weight to words you meant,
more poignantly than the one who used them first,
way back, way back, when.

I knew then, that deer park trails,
and trials by night could frighten me,
so much so, and that I could depend,
on you and your willingness,
on our quickness to defend.

I knew then, that all the pine,
and tack boards of posters,
all the fine print, were nothing,
to your loving brown eyes,
and that nothing never lies.

I knew then, that if it fails,
this hot headed first try,
I the braggart and the beggar,
will be welcomed at your side.

My pores are bleeding;
missed opportunity,
felled delusions,
burning, burning
and more.

Time we had for aching nothing,
for dog eared fallacies,
Broken crying,
dreams of happy dying,
shit stacks and turn stiles,
turn corners and run
 miles on miles on blisters.

A dream of sympathetic sisters,
america and gold,
as the blue forgotten sunrise
takes hold.

stuck

sat around, drawing up courage,
and pictures of plans,
reading our own fortunes,
reading our own hands,
knotting our brains, for the strength to understand,
the path from mediocrity,
to endless golden sands,
but the plaster sets, deplores us,
setting death masks where we stand.

act 1

hollowed out,
we scratch our names out,
from lists,
of names and names,
we persist,
to exist outside the frame,
our spines,
our long necks crane,
unwilling,
to bend, to refrain,
acting,
is a soulless game,
one piece,
in an inside lane,
another,
tucked, ignored, insane.

Thought you were a profit,
a promise of love to come,
the cherished possibility
and the bright heart of the sun,
as we drank and planned out futures,
like we had not only one.

divorce proposal

I opt out, I reject, I find these grey pastures abhorrent,

I have been washed out to sea and caught in a flood light.

blinded by the bright.

There must be some collection of words, 

some selection that curbs the indecency, 

a little poignancy, that softens the suicide,

there is no reason to go on, 

 already, in my head,

I have divided up my belongings,

I have arranged for the cat to be fed, 

after I am dead.  

a little clipping of fire,

burning in your stomach,

growing and growing, 

one day due, 

the eclipsing of the sun and moon,

by this light of flickering blue.

blessings

you were so bright,
so angry,
wrapped there,
clinging desperately,
thoughtless and,
immovable.

stuck on like a stamp,
that won't wash off,
it stays, after the hangover,
after the cough.

you clung there,
poetically pathetic,
stammering,
stuttering,
rhetoric,
you were,
poetically pathetic,
like a drunk fool,
swearing his soul,
to fish nets,
to the north star,
to hell and high water.

Is it the first sign of insanity,

dreams merging with reality,

storyboards plucked inaccurately,

something murky yet vivid,

 a dream or a memory,

life drips on, so insipid. 

I've hit an end,
run into a wall,
i've coughed everything,
out, up.

nearly croaked,
but instead,
choked,
coughed,
and up came my tumor,
a heart shape,
a saviour.

all the death,
lurching wet,
out of me.

I am forced,
to confront,
to stare...
blank white canvas,
dead white flesh.

How is it possible? 

That I find myself hopeful, again.

When all the other sentences have bled to an end.

Every other misery ended a misery.

All the world sent me sliding again, 

out to the wild, wind fiercer, rivers rushing. 

Every glimmer of gold turned out to be another,

duller metal, I caught the reflection of myself,

and counted myself rotten, felt forgotten, 

but I'm here again, hopeful. 

Catching the glimmer, beneath the surface,

across a table. 

swept back to the setting sun, the cursed do run in circles,

the circles are select, the black hearts collect and elect, 

and run rings around their necks, sacred symbols of respect. 

crept round and saw all heck, the gathering specks and flakes and pulp 

and weeds and overripe, overbearing, ominous shadows, all bunched up like

laundry, that should've been dealt with, wet spun, long cycle, shaken, dried, 

ironed and folded.

leapt up and pounced crying with the heat and laughter of a jackal, 

the rapture of fire and the crackle, while the burn stung a black heart 

onto white skin, as the sacred symbols tied me to his and his to him. 

slept though the night in the company of perfect strangers, 

led astray by perfect dangers, the exquisite shapes of ursa major,

the languid legs, the rings were spun in unbreakable silk,

my legs were bound and my eyes were knit to the sky. 

swept back your hair and gazed into your eyes, 

watching your pupils dizzy dance of perfect circles, 

how they rang rings around us, 

how have they found us? 

how the gods to astound us and now.

we are stuck here in the dark, 

at the altar, listening to the crackling of our skin, 

a hearth to warm our kin, 

a sacred sacrifice, 

bound lambs deafened, defenseless and dim.

ground me up with a slow clicking jaw,
tapping out a sentence like a metronome,
like a doomsday clock for one
as I face the wall and sweat tears,
the finality is a surreal fantasy
as the world folds like paper boxes,
all of the space crushed
all of the silent air squeeks
as my life rushes under my nostrils
and I try to figure out where I peaked.

a dull sky sets on a day that is easily forgotten,
a grind towards the standstill, another dud,
go with the grain,
polish the dust,
warm up the old metal,
and the cogs start turning again,
the day is gelatinous,
it is clogging up my sinuses,
the monotony is terrifying,
as another dull sky sets,
as another brain stem is clipped,
as I forget,
as all of these trimmings collect,
perhaps piling to something substantial,
climbing, ambling, aimlessly,
 I scramble up the side,
of this pyramid,
towards...

...perhaps,
all of this monotony,
that boils and freezes my blood,
that sets me sinking in quicksand,
that saps my soul of love,
is necessary,
perhaps each day is a tribute,
or a tributary,
to the ocean,
to a wave.

Brownies

the generosity of greased parchment, stuck the sheet to the pan,
stuck it all to the roof of my mouth, hell to the thought of it,
the sugar will melt, but now it is like sand, and i didn't know to avoid salt,
that sticks to the hand, nor did I know the merits
of some crystal over another,
or that cake should be springy and not cloy,
I did not know black from brown,
or a hat from a cake stand,
amateurishly I check the oven,
again and again, I fumble at nothing,
I always make at least one,
rudimentary mistake,
when I bake.

You won't push me into this,

the holly dance, the unplanned drift,

won't guide me to your arm your hand,

I am clean like polished alloy, 

I am pure powder snow,

a fly by night a dainty, quite,

and yet i'll win, I'm sure tonight. 

I'll pause, refrain, consider,

each passing thought will linger,

until it forms a holding finger, 

and all is subdued, is muted not moved,

you won't push me into this,

i've danced around the precipice,

i've danced through licking fire,

i've burned my hands, my neck,

i've turned and I'm not turning back,

I'm frozen still in judgement,

i've peeled off from desire. 

3 little poems

1. grown
the flush faced boy,
finds rest bite in solitude,
only once he's grown,
once he has forgotten.

2. wash
the narrow wind of water,
draws a course, and of course,
we must all, eventually,
be washed out to sea.

3. murder
the kind crows feet,
belie, tender eyes,
without the heart for white lies,
without the blackness of crows wings.

tinkerer

snapping man
sighing like a tree branch
under the weight of edifice
yellow silk glaze
on his dull buttery eyes
so tired
so damned

boy

Little boys who thought they were airplanes,
who grew up and had great big brain tumors,
passing out while silver screen orgasms sang them to sleep,
with the sweeter secrets of the universe,
all of these memories are dreamt then forgotten
by the sons of wine merchants and black cab drivers.
all of these thoughts grow like green grass,
then are bled dry by cold maturity.

I dreamt of you behind your back,
I'm sorry for that hated fact,
but you burn brighter then astronauts,
brighter than the sunlit arctic's white,
I thought of us in airplanes,
I fought the sadness of the night.

homeless

caught up in the drift,
of the snow, that you had left behind,
when your home is the dust
of the places that you used to hide
with a mouth full of rust,
because you bit your tongue to protect,
 runaway experiments,
now the street fills up with amputee apes,
and blind mice,
remember when you were home,
when the world was small comfort,
and possibility was a dream,
now your home is a chip,
of the place that you used to call,
the number still in your head,
rings dead.
guide-less little runaway,
no light, to beat the night away,
deadlock poker games,
stale mate stake outs,
life of profane love,
hatched and grown,
coup flown and dipped from above,
remember when you were home,
now that your home is dust,
in a dust bowl,
insignificant anonymity,
you
the motherless child of infinity.

it is hard to harness shrubs

the dirt on your boots undermines your stiff salute,
crushes your bowing, fuse blown mutterings,
untempered steel, so willing, so unable,
falling foul of your own fable,
caught up in the excitement of big dreams,
you forgot to stitch the inseams,
and your trousers are flapping moronically.

stupid

you are billowing out wave after wave, grey cartoon clouds into blue cartoon skies,
above blue cartoon seas, the smoke stacks are bringing the world to its knees,
the enveloping, the encircling, the enshrouding, has us bargaining with god,
pleading with science, crying through pinched laughter, farting out disaster.

what happened

we sold the glue for our hearts,
now the meat flakes apart,
its so light, too light like sparks,
but our hair is in heavy braids,
and our plates are sunk in heavy cream,
but our mouths are cloy with bitter words,
and our dumb struck wives are bitter birds,
caged up in crates, contained in crowns,
pricked by wasp tails, and death leaking bee ones,
we sold the glue for our hearts,
now the meat flakes apart,
light as puff pastry,
pink and tender,
raw, red raw.

milk

struck by the second coming of the white rain,
white washing our windows, muting all our pretty colours.
bathing us in milk for beauties sake, to cover up our regrets,
tattoos and love notes to strangers,
swallowing the green earth, eclipsing the day,
the earth becomes a mirror of the moon,
a mirror to the sun, and back and forth,
and so on, again, and then again.

can't you see we're burnt up inside the same cinder cake,
we're caught in the same net, clamped in the same bear trap,
mouths open aghast, letting in the swirling wind,
silent in the summer time, frightened half to sin,
we are locked up in our own acedia,
sadness glistening on our skin,
ankles tied to stool legs,
stool legs teetering.

tangere

it saturates,
the cut of tooth,
the gentle day,
peel back the skin,
let me stay,
unfazed by,
the words of kings,
the echoes of gods,
but your breath,
it saturates,
I can hear,
like a piano chord,
ringing out,
unopposed,
I won't forget,
you're in my bones.

doe eyed john

i'm sorry there was no follow up,
no flash back, no sympathy,
no rectifying act, only reticence,
I let you talk and I listened.

now my friend

cast back to the moment news broke,
you bobbed senselessly
 awash in misunderstanding.
then you were dragged back in,
then we all knew you couldn't win.

the whole world ignored,
slack jawed gawping and bored.

look back at the body you could've won,
had you cracked the whip on your own back,
had you cut yourself less slack.

but you swallowed sweet pills in place of bitter ones.
you curled up in your bed,
you groaned for the profound pain in your head.

now my friend,
you are stupid
and fat.

you were the shape of the sun as it shimmers
a canyon whispering an earthquake,
shaking like a sea bird,
humming out a curse
sailing an intangible course
clipped tongue
clipping at my heels
humming out a curse,
a melody
a hook to hang me
and my dreams.