i. when completely alone i know what i am.
no, my brain is a liar, is a lie, is a – turn it off.
ii. i run out: on the wildering of my selves.
i trim them down; less to disguise, less to carry.
iii. please take one with you on your way out.
there will not be a chase.
Nov 24, 2017
Nov 24, 2017 at 3:28 PM UTC
i catch the tube to notting
hill and hope, from
the back row
of the coronet, that
when the lights come back
on, and it says "the end"
in black and white,
it's wrong
Jun 2, 2017
Jun 2, 2017 at 2:55 PM UTC
in the blanket of night
i know of ruin
and on quiet early mornings
my grave-heart
is still
Jun 2, 2017
Jun 2, 2017 at 2:54 PM UTC
i remember it was five am
and sat on the floor tiny
next to your bag
bursting huge
to make better use of space
you slowly placed items
inside your shoes
"i feel like a criminal"
Jun 2, 2017
Jun 2, 2017 at 2:54 PM UTC
i know you were real
i have photos to prove it
and i have a memory of you and i
outside and inside mcdonald's
with sweet teeth
but now your face has strayed
from my span of sight
and i have none of your possessions
to gaze upon
no shirt to pick up
and remember you move inside it
i feel the sun on my back
more than i feel you
and i have never known the sun
the way i knew you
no matter
if i could remember
your hand in mine
it would not find you
back here with me
Jun 2, 2017
Jun 2, 2017 at 2:52 PM UTC
like two hands on a clock
our bodies move in fractions
with movements so slight
they go unnoticed
and the distance grows and fills
with shapes and sounds
to drown out flashbacks
of eyes, of hands, of mouths
(this interspace between us always
lasts much longer than the moments
when our hands align)
like two hands on a clock
our meeting is
inevitable
and two days later –
when i wash your smoke from my hair
your breath from my skin –
the water cannot sever your being
from my being
and unlike two hands on a clock –
that map the time in patterns unchanging –
i cannot map our movements
towards or away from each other:
there is no clear explanation
for you and i
Jun 2, 2017
Jun 2, 2017 at 2:47 PM UTC
i painted a face on a cushion, a body grew,
a cotton version of you, an acrylic substitute
for clumsy limbs that clutched my skin
last year. i swam in the lovesick silence,
you were my choir but you were quiet
now that your love had expired.
with eyes sewn shut to the sunshine,
the violent lack of colour left me tired
and i remember the day you told me to leave
like a succession of pleas against all i believed
in, this faith i had gained
in a god who went by your name,
you were giving me gold in the form of a game
and the rules had started to blur
but i still saved all of my body for yours,
i emptied myself to swallow you more
and i was thinking,
just after you left,
that my heart is a ship and it's sinking
Jun 2, 2017
Jun 2, 2017 at 2:44 PM UTC
what if in the night i let my girl-heart out
its muffled murmurs, its soft
unfolding sounds;
let it go completely
would i almost learn how to settle in life
learn to unbloom the bruises
on skin too tight
to remove completely
would i lose colour and find it among flowers
would i lose colour at all
Aug 9, 2015
Aug 9, 2015 at 8:57 AM UTC
i was a daughter once, i know,
not so long ago, when i
had a mother
with all the answers
and skin that never bruised.
we were close; her
branches around mine,
we’d unravel stories,
in winter’s light, and lay,
in those old mornings
where i felt safe
but branches break.
i was a sister too, a child,
with siblings sleeping, side
by side, in a rose-wine
sea, me – so small, we –
looked-after,
daughters lost and losing
something, someone, sooner
than we thought.
these days, that girl
is gone: sometimes i find
the ghost of her in
photo albums, teddy
bears, bob dylan songs.
i’ve yet to ask my sisters
if they’ve seen her.
Aug 3, 2015
Aug 3, 2015 at 2:37 PM UTC
sometimes
beside you
when i should be sleeping
i put my ear to your mouth
and i can hear
the rhythm of your breathing
like waves that roar
inside a seashell
it keeps me awake
when all else is quiet
and i forget
about all the loves
and unloves
all the smudges i tried
to unsmudge
all the things before you
and sometimes
beside you
when i should be sleeping
i imagine myself
to be so much more than i am
i imagine myself
inside a seashell
i imagine myself
as a wave
Jun 21, 2015
Jun 21, 2015 at 9:52 AM UTC