I have fallen at your feet
I have hell to thank
but not your cold hands to hold
I have the sublime
 ethereal and insubstantial

Do you remember
coming to meet me in work
telling me to finish early
demanding I go straight
without detour

Do you remember
the wind and the rain
like a tide

Calamity will never again get you

You are erudite and important

Bathing in the now infinite water

That spans more than the whole world

When the river ached at its banks

Born to be an ocean, it broke

A word was shouted as it spoke

And it span us like a carousel

all clung tight around its throat 

with our fingers tight as mesh wire

With our guts scrunched up like iron wool

Our nostrils and eyes were dry and chapped

Cracked and bleeding

berries

There are berries growing on the tree just by my window
in the front garden that is right on the street
old men and women seem to know what they are
I don't know what they are
old men and women seem to be taking them
I don't know how I feel about this
sometimes I mention the berries to people who I think might know what they are
sometimes people seem to think they know what the berries are
I offer them the mystery berries openly
I don't know how I feel about this
why do I offer the berries to these people
why do I mind others taking them freely
they are so excited
taking them brazenly or slyly
surely I should be used that someone is making use of the fucking things

why do I get a tiny pang like I'm being robbed
tiny berry theft
tiny unknown useless fruit

I suppose I am a hoarding, greedy; capitalist
sitting in the front room of a rented home
pinching my brief ownership
between my forefinger and thumb

In a few months I will move out
I will walk past this room
I might steal berries
with a pang of guilt
and a feeling of ownership
pinch it until it bleeds out its seeds

Rot

The last lump of you still beating

                                         clinging to the bone 

                                                       of the slow 

cooked meat flaking wetly away

                              the wet flesh/

                                          dust of dead fish 

swimming off with the brines 

                                     currents through 

                                             the last blue dawn

                                          

to the black cold bottom 

to the heady pressure 

 of the sea trench: 

the finger pulled fissurs in the earths crust 

                                                             and then lay down

after three minutes 

where I didn't think at all

only shouted out;

"blood cracked skull! I wanted you for a side car to ride through the world of new adventures to find the last slip of unmapped land and comment on the worth of its fine green tree and its unturned rock, 

I wanted you to play the first ever original song on the last untunable piano, while I danced and drank and sang, I wanted you to convince me of the value of religion, to value my redemption enough to convince yourself of it and redeem the both of us, I wanted you to sink into my cold skin and embue me with the warmth of your heart, 

I wanted all of that, 

for a start." 

inner circle

stop clipping the corners off,
the centre is getting smaller,
more and more finite, graphite
shuddering off its skins,
the triangles aren't amounting,
nor are they leaving an impression.

you are just running out of corners,
you are creating a smooth surface,
but its all ripples and missed cuts,
slashed sides narrow open,
barely a wink left in you.

Stop clipping the corners off,
you are sending your self to sleep,
letting all the blood fall
that you really need to keep.

You can not shed skin like a snake,
there will be vigils in your wake,
there will be sad sighs
 after each scissor wound

and after each connection that you break.

and after each call that you drop.

and again after each number that you block
or that you don't bring forward
to your shiny new phone,
as you try so desperately,
to be left alone.

lemons

armfuls and armfuls

1. um thanks

2. I don't need them anymore, you can keep them

1. oh, yea great

2. you can make lemonade with them

1. yeah I guess I can

2. you could make lemon cake with them

1. I guess I could

2. you could juice them into the eyes of your enemies

1. I try really hard not to have enemies

2. you could give lemons to people who are close to becoming your enemies

1. like who?

halftooth

old and left lost, teeth
bleeding raw gum
smell of decay
chipped up pieces
 useless and painful
jus' 'anging there
look, look at it,
it fucking hurts