You visited my sleep
Again last night
An after-image of our
Decayed friendship
You were a giant
Huge hands and feet
And you hid
In the back bathroom
Of my childhood home
The one with the yellow handles
And towel racks
That aren’t there anymore
And the real human skeleton
In the hay coloured wooden box
That’s long forgotten but still there
You weren’t seen in the dream
But I knew you were there
A bit like
In my waking life
Where
Not even the bones
Of our friendship
Survived
(Because unlike my parents
I keep no skeletons)
The flesh of our bond
Wounded too deeply
When you tried to pretend
I wasn’t there
Because it was convenient
Because you wanted what I had
And you were too cowardly
To seek it out with integrity
And honesty
Two qualities I thought
You really did have
Sometimes
I have
An imagined conversation
With you
I say all the things
I can’t say to you
I point out the moments
You’ve pushed out of your mind
The laugher
The thousands of texts
The ciders I bought you
Because you were poor
Running in the rain after work
Comforting you on Elizabeth street
When you said you’d never meet
Anyone, ever
And I remind you again
What I said on that walk
You will. You may even know him already.
I give you a look
In the scene, in my mind
And you
You can’t hold my gaze
Because you understand the irony
You know
That my loss
Was your gain
Then I say, what I want to
But what I can’t say to you
*You may have the trophy
But you didn’t really win
No matter how much you
Polish your prize
Your guilty face will
Always be reflected back at you
A gilded distortion
An ugly elongated shadow
Of your form
The same reflection
You’ll see in the sheen
Of your ring
But do you know what, Sophie?
I don’t need a surface to
Reflect anything back to me
Because old friend
I am free*
Nov 10, 2014
Nov 10, 2014 at 9:45 AM UTC
Why does
Public transport
Cause contemplation
Is it the sense
Of moving
Without moving
Of being still
Whilst hurtling
And breaking
In an ever-forward
******
Is it
Being a spec
On one scale
Of the snake
Of traffic
That slides
Across London
A writhing pit that
From a plane
Looks more like veins
Filled with luminous
Material
For an MRI maybe
Some nuclear medical
Liquid used
To highlight a hidden issue
But what is the
Sickness of this city
We seek to find?
The same queasy feeling
That rises in me?
Knowledge
A visceral lump
That doesn’t dislodge
With the stop-start
Rumble of the 38
Memories
That shouldn’t
Have been mine
Of skin
I shouldn’t have
Been touching
A neck my nails
Shouldn’t have been
Brushing
Whispered nothings
I shouldn’t have been
Rebuffing
You have a girlfriend
You have a girlfriend
A screech
Red bus tyres seem to make
Red
Red gullet
Red cheeks
Red lights as the bus breaks
And I alight
Still sticky
With the fever
Of a city of cheaters
And snakes
Sep 17, 2014
Sep 17, 2014 at 7:46 AM UTC
The billowing
Invisible pillows
Of oven air
Pressing
Surrounding
Attempting
To mollify
Liquefy or
Bake
A dense
Imperative to
Change state
Figures
Droop and
Drip
Bottled water
Is
Initially
Sipped
And
Then
****** at
With placid
Desperation
Until plastic vessel
Is an empty lung
That inhales with
A suctioned
Creak
Then exhales
Vapour
Breathing on lip’s
Sweat
That then slides
Down
Ever
Down
Pulled by
Under ground gravity
Forming
A river of
Consciousness
A blurring of
Memory and
Passive observation
Until everyone
Seems to be
Part of one
Melted mind
A slippery hive
Of semi-conscious cogs
Slowly turning
Turning
Forgetting where
Left is
Where right is
Instead
Moving forward
Pooling with the masses
As they slink
Forward
Up stairs
Through tunnels
Funnelled ever forward
Pushed out
Rising ever up
At pace with
Steam
Then
Then
Rush of wind
And
Out into the open air
Aware
Suddenly of
Sun
Clouds
Pavement
Nostrils
Filling
The feeling of
Remembering
A loosening
A separation
From the sweaty
Stream of commuters
A grounding
Knowing suddenly
Here
There
Here
Lip still sweaty
The wind blows cool
You pause
Then swept
Into another
Current
Of people
With a purpose
That can’t be gleaned
March on
March on
Till your front door
Then
Then
Hide as you slide down
Pressing your self
Against the solid dam
A shield against the rush
Another day is done
But
The city still sweats
Outside
Beneath the blanket
Of the season
Tossing turning
Fitful and full of
Floating dreams
And the glossy steamed
Mirage of a nightmare
Then
Then
You sleep
Sep 17, 2014
Sep 17, 2014 at 7:37 AM UTC