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

wyldefyre

 there is only so much spreading
before the pools reach their dusty edges
and someone chimes in coldly
you have said all of this same shit before
and you thought you heard a murmur
someone calling you a whore

glass blown by slack jaw

I wanted to see you, piled up like car pools all collided,
as if you never noticed, the time it took to wring you through my hands,
like water collected, dirty swill all wiped up at the source,
better than nothing,
the day was bought for half an egg and ham,
in case you hadn't noticed,
you were left back behind an empty pram,
never found out,
what it was to have soft hands,
never the sound outside, of your own ego ripping,
popping like soap bubbles.

I wanted to see you,
squinting, trying hard to understand,
to watch you watching dumb struck,
like lightening hits sand.

cold little horror

some sums from the summer,
rung necks for ladders,
all the way up to the top button,
i can feel you wincing in the wind,
i can feel the halo tighten around my throat,
tied tight to my skin,
some songs for cold weather,
this should've been, coulda been better,
 four tight little hours,
cold winter showers,
and all the awesome colours,
burning laughter in my throat,
ripped through the chords as they broke,
like waves that we swallow,
wet lungs choke,
some prayers for the summer,
this is the hollow mocking wrote,
do you not remember,
do you not remember?
do you not remember?
some sums from the summer,
rung necks for ladders,
climbing clumsy brothers,
together forever floundering,
half wits collected,
around collapsable ideals,
the flat land reveals,
all that is spherical and real,
the empirical reveal,
and you see it,
coming at you like a moon,
hallowed and horrible,
howling disasters,
lisping whispers,
death reeking sinistersssssss,
sisters piled like empty cans to shoot,
all the way up to the top,
rolling over like waves,
from the bottom to the top,
all the way over,
some sums from the summer,
before hell froze over,
and choked at the back of my throat,
like a stale biscuit.