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.

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.

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.

When I think of you in symbols,
you've already given all of those parts,
there are no new cells to nurture,
all divided before I featured,
and the lights blink into the future,
where all the sentences are blurry,
and all the outcomes mixed and slurring,
where my head is blocked and slurring,
and my mouth is full and slurring,
and I wish my cell was broken,
into two then four then open,
spread into bits out open,
like a pen leaked out then frozen,
ink iced up half chosen;
thoughts blurted out in the open,
and when I've torn myself right open,
like a pen cracked into the open,
and you've told me all of your symbols,
and none of them cradle me in their middle,
like I held you round the middle,
like I love you right through the middle,
but I can't see any other any longer,
 all our lights blink off into the future,
Even when you push me off like a suture,
And I'm sorry I know that i'm slurring,
but i'm scared just so scared that we're blurring,
and i'm scared of what you are inferring,
And I wish my cell wasn't broken,
this is no kind of life in the open,
this is not the love I was hoping,
I'm not sure my dear if we're coping.

Baskerville's Stanley

He lived a life by the letter,
lying through lipless teeth,
blue underneath.

Sinking through corridors,
like smoke between teeth,
buried down packed snow to sleep.

Cotton bud came out bloody,
and he sighed himself to sleep,
with poems from the good book
that held his hand,
that touched his cheek.

I heard him talk in vases,
echoed spirals right around my mind,
in years that grew like climbers,
a kaleidoscopic narrow mind,
switching up the chambers
 until he forgot how to tell the time.

sanctuary

How cruel of you to tell me,
years beyond the fact - Months -
beyond the turning point -
long since I held track -
shivers down my backbone -
and I'm craning to look back -
my brain is starved of oxygen -
starved of all the things I lack.

How cruel of you to whisper,
like its just another fact.

Staring daggers through your eyelids,
shooting pigeons flying back.

The love of sheltered wisdom -
the clairvoyant in the back -
the rooster in the hen house -
screaming wisdom into black -
the big mouth striking blindly -
leading the attack --

You are none of these exactors -
glancing daggers off my neck  -
you are just a poor rememberer -
you aren't granting me due slack -
you are a headlight flood lit sanctuary
from which there is no turning back -
the banks clear burst the estuary
and the sea starts swirling black -

pollen

two grains locked in cupboards,

perfect for ever,

a full collection of pollen on a leg,

shrugged off all of a sudden,

to be left sullen,

two ventricles without blood in,

two sucked in cheeks,

pinched red,

to create whole hearts, from fractions,

two grains locked in cupboards,

perfect for ever, 

two brains smashed together,

safely talking of the weather,

and breathing slower ever slower,

together always together,

perfect for ever,

a full collection, 

of pollen on a leg,

hanging on through sheer vertigo.