Ik ik I get it
It's 6 am, I have not slept and I am
SO HAPPY
or was before I stopped.
I think. It was, it was... I am an eletric tower
My fingers are copper
It was like a surge of joy, electric, buzzing
I could not stop i could... I had to dance
But i typed instead to people so many
People who were
Also typing and then i was in there
In the wires, i was dancing, my wrist
Had started to hurt but the people
Kept coming my way to talk
In my ears, they were, in my eyes
In my eyes eyes my fingers were
Mine but what a possession it was!
What absent pilgrimage, i
Analysed myself. I was... it was a dream
I say. I am awake. I forgot to sleep.
I say, it's okay. You are body
At the end of the day. I am. I am
But i say it everyday so much i say it
So much. Body, body. I am

I must sleep. It is dawn. There is
Finally silence in my mind
There is Finally room
For air

Now there is a boy I think of
When I cannot sleep
But it does not do: there is
Crookedness
In every pepper that plays me
There is crookedness
In every lovely name. There is
No eye that spares me
The ******. There is
*** in the walls. The winds moan.
They ruffle my shirt just to see
They pick the sparse parts and
Spread spread spread they
Deprive no one of me. I am haunted
By my oak wood, my twigs
My sugar that races from me to fruit
And bursts atop the open palm.
There is no God but that
In the pinpricks of my skin
No word that does not steal me
And dies a meagre scent in ear
There is no book. I pray to the
Well-taught wells of nothing
And I am given everything
I pray in a sound I cannot own
I am heard, forgiven, etc.
Now the boy becomes a man
And I become a woman and
The night passes passes but
There is no hand that can hold me
And spare me the hold. I am tired
Of picking at the doubts on my skin
They yield, bleed, and do not cease
To become me. Me me, I am
Tired
Of confidentiality. Superstitious
Consciousness, I cannot bear, tonight,
All these dead fathers

Moving their hands to grab me
From within. I am not much
But a vessel
For his sheer body to pour through
And pass and ruffle itself neat
There is no language
Small enough for me: no word
That does not leak. No - no
Plentitude that could unmake God,
And fix me this pursed solitude.
Though, he... this...
Make-believe beautiful and noise
Weaves me tersely into skin
And says forget forget, it
Does not do,
though

His looming lure is huge as a kiss
His hands are coarse company
Asphyxia feels again
Like homecoming

I am, I am.... please!
A death so strong it wavers the nerve
Wind, quick! A turn of the neck to stare down the world
We dance as wheat in showers of green
We weep between, between the breaths
Between the breaks of fluent feet
Between the feat that dares the sea
Come, deity, beloved, small, yield
To palm of clammy ache
And slip as darling unchanged at day
There is no mercy from stars that watch
Amidst the blackened smokes of song
No applause to soothe the bones
No stir, blink, warmth. God
Is a tremor in the skin, and there is no leave
There is no leave for the dance to rest

Move, move, move as wretched rats in mills
Move as mills, as the thousand legs in mills
As product, as carts, as wheels along
Death, a child’s glittery dream, wrought
To soothe the eye to sleep... come to lure
As a mistress in secret. A stale scent to
Startle the morning, and nothing more!
Nothing to weave the veins in sweet,
Nothing to free. Nothing, nothing, move
Move! Move lest the sun should
Spread the word. Move from shadow,
From gold and bleak, move! Move!
There is no death to spare us this!

A sorrow that feels like a mother
Out of shape, with a little scar
A cool kiss-mark that I wipe
On my way out of the house
Do not stumble, mother. Do not you
Lose your way on your way to us
I love you with childhood, with maturity
With the stubborn memory
Of chipped walls and a crammed room
Where you lived as a bride of waxen wings
Do not laugh when you speak
To us of flight. Do not warn with
A softened voice.

The cloak of your quiet
Leaves a scent in my palms
And the women sense it
The men are lured, they promise
Absolution, and I flee
Like a fly, return like a fly, I cower
In the shadowing absence of word

And it is in all my work. You,
Candle. Bribing the night
For momentary mercy. Do not laugh
When you itch to weep.
Your woolen arms loyal to tear
To fear and defeat. I know a lament
That talks of you

With a swollen lip, its reticence
Brittle as chalk, it bursts as a stifled
Fruit of spite, it eats eats eats you
I hate you with shame, with burning
Flight. I hate you with the sun.
I write all night, I cannot sing
I rob the little sleep of dream
And weep weep weep for you
Then crawling I sink within my blue
And let the morning dove take lead

Sweet spring gusts decay in my room
They are stale, sluggish, and they
Make the fan very, very heavy
It is loud like a ramble, it betrays me

I lie against the soft spice of sorrow
Small as a sparrow. My calves are childish
The morning looms over night
It stares like a bored God. The night
Is stone. It stoops meek and fidgety
Its little white heart shivers
And pulls closer its fur coat

I am a constant unlocalised impulse
A thousand movements compel me
To try instill a thousand beetle words
A thousand times I sit up to speak
Amidst the endless ruffle of air
Where a crowd of air-people chatters
About a thousand matters of air

No yawning or tossing turn
Percussions play the heart, cautious
It shields itself. Cautious it steps
A little bit back, and cautious
It curls in on itself. Like a flower
I stroke its perfect skin, and pitiful
I let it be. Music in my ears is noise.
The curtains spread their midnight locks
To shield me from the world.

Sorry for sending you poems to read
I tend to forget that poems are meek
And the vagueness that pleases me
May not be pleasing for you

I forget, when I am charmed, I forget
To be quiet, to be quiet, to hold
The words firmly in my fist
Poetry is winged, birds I must keep

A gift for you, but you do not want
I know you want to, but cannot want
I dont get it, i forget it, I say read this
Then this and then this one too

Then you lie, impatient, hum along
And I cannot help but sag down a bit
Please do not begrudge my silence
I know no friend for words but her

Sorry, for sending you poems to read

What is wrong? Why do I turn
From the face of grief?
Why have the houses stopped talking
Their eyes droop, their spines bend
They are leaning as friends over each other
They are sleeping

Rain combs her hair through the air
Too long, they fold
As darlings on the ground
Then she shakes her head
And the chaos stirs the trees

What is this bored suffocating silence
Sagging in my mouth
It leaves a bitter taste, coats my breath green
I am suddenly ashamed to speak