Father you are not far from crime
I used to think you a better God
When I heard your footsteps pound
And shake the house still and child
But you are just as small as I
And timid you turn from door to door
And yell out wild in the void
You do not seem to see that we
Have so long packed up and gone
And left the door unlocked should you
One day see and follow through

But you are frown. You snore for long
And wake up to yell. You yell and
I think, is this all you will ever be
But no, my father is soft at dawn
When sun is blue and we are torn
Between memory and yearn
Nay, I say, with my shake of head
Father's his father's scared child
Give him a prayer, my God is kind
But then a gust of wind will pass
And fling at him his muttered curse
And we watch again the tempest rise
Above as flames about the sun
Then violin, whittle, wind and whale
Then generous lot with his love
He caresses so beautiful.

Porcelain becomes fear, but
There is no room for flight.
Father, you are not far from crime

My teeth are blunt from leisure
I refrain from bite, the flesh
Is just short of spice, but it
Would suffice, would that I
Willed; would that I. My jaw
Bolts shut like a fist and I ****
My body in on itself. Close, all
Movement close, I shall take
Nothing of this. I shall
Lie here, pale and pure as
Sterilised steel and let the
Earth steal what is due but
It will not grow, not one sour
Bloom from my sterile stew.
Let it taste and grimace,
Ransack then my sallow face.
And cold or old, my jaw will clench
Ever as bold and when all is done
In heavens and above, let it
Bellow upon God's flat face:
I did not take. I did not take.

On the wicked turn, that sour slant angle
Of my face that slipped
Beyond the veil of hair: everything I am.

I fumble, my hands contort, the hinges
Of my fingers know no tandem
They work only to dissolve
The slip into conversation. But
Your gaze moved - just enough.

And all the buzzing hum, you heard too well
And however firm I steer the sea
I cannot stop the sinking
You rush within from the little crack
Perhaps without wanting to, perhaps
Even with pity, and then I am full

Bursting, heavy with intrusion
And all day long, my heart drums itself
And I can sense the strong Incoming,
Slinking through to inspect
What my stubby hands could not correct

Then the night, then the dawn,
And then day day day.
Then something lets loose and
The plank unravels from plank and
Then there is nothing to fear

However stark the spotlight of shame
How sweet it is to have sinned
How sweet to flirt with flaw
And to push it little, little. To push it
Vain and bare, past the edge, down
Through nothing and then

Firework: shards are glittery with grief
The wine stretches its limbs to the world
And the ground drinks it up.

Furtive, fleeing eyes
Secretive without disguise
Say naught, and nor
Will they— say, fleeting lore
Upon lore upon lashes
Strung— say, sweet clashes
Of arrows’ white delights
Unsung, into the brown nights
Preserved— where thought may not
Blood and shudder, where touch may not
—In seas dark
Where black moons talk
Of soft wars, and where they await
And await
Some familiar sly bells
Where a gaze intricate dwells

A stilling tether—
Then twisting together—
Breath at leisure, time at leisure—
Whenever, whenever! Wherever!

Clinging—
And ringing,
A dance so sure!
Flush, and rush, a trance so pure!
Oh, talk and talk
A lark and a hawk

Wave at rest, beat and bird at rest—
Parting, then—
                and filled a chest with breathing unrest.

Then slide away—swift, your way
And I too, scuttling astray

Eyes their secrets mirthfully keep
Yet leap on star from star; and too deep seep
And tug and tug
Wild seas— wild tug—

Golden bees
over purple seas
Lies etched upon their wings
It is, I think, like that—
I cannot force this ink to scream
— Black flies
and brown moths
Dust knows what verses we carry,
but what good is she
Restless wasps
beneath a crystal cage
quiet— quiet carved over the bodies we bear

It flows like this, I suspect
They say death laughs when a man dares fly
But I dream this body
—not mine
hands
—not mine
Not mine, I swear
And I plant my smirking blade
into a soft earth
It giggles red, and red and red
and I pluck the gleaming fruit out
It smirks still—

So beautiful do they look
to my withering self
—not mine— not mine, I swear
Red upon red upon grey.
She spills for him,
and I let them meet, they
kiss and kiss and my heavy hands allow
—not mine
And I dream this dream
of a being so mine, and one so not
The flesh blends in with the crescent
a closed fist with an open chest
and I cannot tell who
smiles, who pleas, who wilts, who slumbers
Cannot tell grey

from red, from gold from black to brown
and bees
It bows like this, and you do not
part the slave from his king—but death
does not laugh
I’ve heard her weep somewhere inside
She says her wings hurt,
her wrists do
I think I tied her up with the walls of a skull
Where bees are buried
and moths lurk drunk
I do not remember now—
I did, when the blooms were still yellow
when ships talked of snoring oceans
and beetles listened—

and I dream this castle where
a maiden is ill
Walls silent,
and dresses, useless, lie
Slave girls and boys with dusty hands
and sweaty necks,
are blamed—
They have buried her in velvet quilts
and cushions stuffed with jewels
The graceful curtains
sing to her and
paintings their stories tell—
but I doubt she knows

It is, I think, blue
I cannot squeeze the beauty out my blood
and isn’t heaven lightened
by the very flames of hell
Do them heroes hear the moths’ shrieks—
up up into the sun so bright.
And I dream this canvas
where a maiden has died
Death’s song rang,
and she followed it out—
and the physician is hanged
for he could not stop her

And the queen to her lover,
surrenders her life
But far is the lover now, music sunk
deep in her bones
and the queen her voice,
surrenders, but—
The beetle never stirs
And the wasp still laughs under
Its glassy sky
— I dream the lightening
kissing a red sea
and I cannot tell purple from the queen’s pleas
And her lover’s dress
lies vacant in my chest
I cannot—
I cannot will this fly to move
and the moth—
Oh, the moth

Weeping winds, gothic gusts
Overfilled pots refusing to puke out the rain
-stumbling vines, suffocating trees
Obsolete stones clothed in moss
Bygone leaves carpeting their beds

They; the lovers and the liars-
the rulers who swam in lakes of hope
They; the killers and the goners-
the dreamers who carved their own skies

velvet robes embracing their carcasses
vanishing bones stained with drying flesh
-rotting pearls, chocking gold
Wounded wooden skies coughing in dust
musical silence, uninvited mourners

So lovely do they hum,
     yet every leaf shivers.
So silent does she come,
     yet every dying hears.
So high do they soar,
     yet caged with dirt.
So loud does she roar,
     yet never heard.

Hissing hearts, venomous veins
Seductive starvation of ever shrinking skin
-calm storms, empty floods
Succumb souls clothed in charming chains
beaten masquerade guarding your soul

You; the painter and the poet-
the coal that blooms in pools of blood
You; the warrior and the war-
the saint who seeks his shadowed deeds

Devouring dress, scarlet bones
thirsty parchment imprisoned in sea
-whistling rain, blushing sun
Another day falls over the insipid pile
Dreamy night dissolves in sleepy day.

So when she crawls up to me,
don't shout out loud, let me hear her song
I need no tears, save them for your late-night prayers
I need no help, let me go for once.
So when I go still,
let me hold my hands, let me cross my feet
I need no flowers, let them live some more for me
I need no masks, let me frown for once.
So when I'm one in the earth,
let me spread my wings, let me take a flight
I need no name on stone, save it for the good you do
I need no visits, let me alone for once.

My anxious blood has come to a final rest.

Grief is good, O naked shivering—
Grief, the last full blossom
In the rich, rich ***** of spring
Laden with hues, their gentle smother;
Reap it they and morph a shrine:
Grief, the violent girl of a silenced mother.
Grief, the first decay of decay old
As the sky beats down and down,
Burning all green to gold.
Grief, the cunning god
That quietens, and teaches the art of scream.
Grief then, the ripe fruit’s bitter-sweet cold.
The first fall that a thousand follow,
Crystal chambers of the first frail flake.
Then, hues that all white swallow.

On, on swirls the necklace.
A countless tyrant beads
Still, countless laced with grace
True, shrines tumble, and daughters weep,
Falls then burn, and summers melt
Thirst and ash into fruit do seep.
This despairing tickle in so deep—
But suns to snow and sweet still on subside
Own thus the jewel, and, hush, be off to sleep.
Oh, in here a faceless sky long stubborn stood;
Years blank, till snow and sun lit up from soot

O naked shivering, grief is good.

Morrow, morrow, city of dreams
Turpentine, slowly sifting
Invades here in sashes of silk
Sounds through bone, bone
Fluid, lures the brain:
It follows coy, curious
Shuffling its thoughts, like one
With fingers, like you
with seasons— blue, and then bold—

The crows shift on the wall
Linseed a moment, and then acetone
I can only overhang and see
The stretches of the city
Forever overspill, overkill— overt
And covert— sounding through
Its buz-busses and snorts; crickets,
Cats, night, white, night
An ox-y-mo-ron, you
Are an orchestra, a tryst

Sweet mo-no-to-ny, a
Platform in a plaza
A plaque on a platform in a plaza
I ransack the dictionary in search of you
The road to lead to the relic of you—
Feed the retrospect’s imagery away
Then the crows look at me
Like I killed their maa
Lit up a June solstice in the beautiful light
Pollution and sound pollution, you
Are homecoming, I say
I say, nothing blinds like home, I say
And I cough the air out like a slang
Your city is ****, a skullduggery
To last the brazen evening
And sag by the night, you are slant
Static, ruthless to the stone come for moss
A slap on the face
Of my sentimentality
How I love to draw you: this way,
This, however I like, since you
Are sightless like a TV, hive of bee
You jig like rain, like sun, woe to me
Like sen-su-a-lity
A satin city, itty bitty pretty
Silly, let me study!

Alabaster hands
I paint like I know you
but I am afraid
I paint like I know
the hours of holy songs he sang
when chip by chip
he broke his David
out of stone

but I mumble with a brush
polluted a tomb
with thievery and doubt
if I return to you
I will do so stollen
rolled up in bay and --
my Florence! I couldn't see you
I was lost

I could not be him
he unleashed, I hold
and now you wear his hands
like a beloved scar
and then you haunt my sleep
with your eyes of old

I am sessile, sterile - I doubt.
I cannot speak.
stone carved inadequate, for
I do not know hands
the venules and the etchings.
I could not learn

fiddling like a cricket
in the arms of leaf
I see him leap through ages
to come and observe
I am an artefact flaw
and him the sound perfectionist
he inspects fingers
as they stumble in paint
ever-looming, giant, bearded
with a broken nose

you, Florence! He steals
movement, instill it, gifts it
you wear it, then you watch me
with museum eyes
Good love,
I am no David
do not ask that of me, I may weep
stone in my hand
I sling stutter over my shoulder
and watch the forever tyrant grow

Hello, poetry, how did it go?
I used to lean here not long ago
I used to think the night too slow
I'd stroll for hours, to and fro

Stumble in the morning, grimace
Wipe the sleep off of my face
Don my clothing, make no haste
Tie the gloom around my waist

I'd sling my bag, grab a pen
Set my scarf a bit around then
I'd stand, think, and wonder when
I'd come to see the window again

Everyday I came back and fell
Into the sullen, sweet old well
Light a candle, and then I'd tell
Stories of hell, of hell, of hell

Why not of the big white sea?
In which I feared I'd forever be
I was a little bit scared, you see
I'd paint so, so intricately

One could never have told
All colors else from brazen gold
Still, I could never be bold
I fumbled, prettily, I was never bold

Why, I wonder, now that I'm blind
There is no cold sorrow of any kind
Is there now no hue left to find?
Why is there a silence in my mind?

this precious rickshaw
hiccups

it jolts at slightest expressions
of the roads' flat faces
hick!
and my stomach wobbles up
like an astronaut made of jelly
bounces against the diaphragm
disturbing the cuddly lungs and
the lattice pancreas wince
hick!
the sour liver curses and
noodle intestines startle and then
grumble
and the swish slosh slosh
of my kerosine blood
is light and jumpy
in the ancient pipelines of flesh

my hands unlearn
unlearn
they are chubby preteens
then hesitating littles
now my handwriting
is an infant walking
hick!
crawling
hick!
this wash-machine ride
with an inferno of April breaths
hick –– hick –– hick!
my little dog-heart
shakes
its fur all ruffled and spiky

Shallow ocean- empty yet going.
Hissing gusts, clouds roaring-
sky, a child dissolved in covers, trembling.
Sun- what sun? The placid air hides it all.
Stars, mere scattered leaves with
Stems, the broken ribs and
birds- fluttering heart beneath the mess.
Houses, firm as bones-
bleeding, sweating, melting.


Hold- Hold O dying tide
and never let lost!
You touch my skin
I disband to embers-
blown, then, out of the face.
pushed, then, out of the way.
Kissed in the hair, punched in the face
Licked on the neck and kicked in the chest.
O mighty wind, break and crush,
then take along!

Picked plants, chopped fingers.
Bleeding gutters, open lips.
Entangled howls embrace in-
Devouring shadow-less beings
whirling about.
Tear-stained sky, deserted abyss.

Gleaming streets- wingless birds-
racing litters- eclipsed countenances-
cursive rain- beautifying falls-
choking trees- coughing chimneys-

yet a dusty, dry I.

O lonely wind! Hold on.

I tell you
reckless rebellion sprouts
upon a hopeless soil
where
every scrawny arm
itself grasps,
its own kin smothers.

but they need not know
of the madness we house

still, tired I am
of moping around.
tired as well of doubts
so,
hollow us albeit,
let the sapling grow;
bloom and all and on—
till a stout, angry fuel it makes

then burn we may
and ashen too.
and I know you’re scared
curse this valour— oh,
curse we, yet
fail to topple
this palace of cards.

cards: silenced tremors.

fight, we fight the tyrant air
that holds firm our wings
and will let not go

and I know you’re scared

any clumsy wind may bare for us
our own restraining snakes—
stink of mud, of rot and ash.
but they have not yet.
not yet.

let grow this mad and
burning tree
let grow, let grow
for when you rot, I
willingly, foolishly
mimic

some times,
the simplest song
some, chimes
or brazen gong

swaying symphonies of sea’s swift strings
some times sweep on along

I am made of infatuation, shame and forever gloom
You could not fall
This is not the chessboard of your dreams
No pawn makes—
No bishop makes
The queen takes, is taken an equal
This is not an aisle of rebirth
Or some sombre remembrance
It halts, it halts
The numbers lessen
I did not abandon, I am still here
Yet, a halt lingers
Like death stuck on the precipice of throat
A life of a single lifetime of a thought
I am energy, a little restless
But restless so out of the nature of self
Like the eye of a rook
On the king through a rook

A stupor unblinking
Like a sharpening of a dream
The knight-slide like an Arabian sword
The king scuttles
Rook takes rook, king takes rook

I fancied myself a manly dream
But it doesn’t work like that, does it—
The game writes, and children play
Now I wait the shameful minutes away
(And I watch you hands, so patient, simple
Say, are you dead or pleased?)
And I watch your hands
I should’ve looked up when I had the chance
Now the brooding leaves
And my eye hardens
Father, you have won
With a dream so well, you played just right
I should have not worshipped the pawns like that

What’s with the bees?
You’ve asked
    several times now
What do I tell—
   I had not noticed them
Maybe, it’s because my lamp bleeds honey
  all over the floor and the walls

Maybe, it’s the soft buzzing of the fan
or the colourful paintings
        that are now anything but.
Perhaps all these thirsty flowers I’ve hung
  Or leaves on the wall paper
Maybe, it’s the wooden texture
of my shelves
  Maybe, it all screams ‘home’ to them

a break from those gossiping towns
    and manic roads

What can I tell— I don’t even know
Maybe it’s me they desire
—though I doubt it
                 Ask the clock,
ask him what he knows of me
I put on some music and
  it tickles my soul
—It pinches
I turn it off and all the world is left alone
  Birds ask if they can join me
I deny—
Foxes invite me to their hunts
         I deny
Owls have stories in their wings
              but what good are stories in
   a world so loud—

Sun dances from east to west to east
—untiring
I’ve lost count of her rounds
She asks me about my hues. I say,
I cannot read
    I say, I cannot write
I say, I cannot will myself to flutter
         I say, you see those wilting blossoms?
I think I’m turning into them
       (What a cheesy thing to say)

She sings me songs and paints up the sky
—I smile pink
though, why, I cannot tell
I tell her my hues are smiling, too
     She pats my cheek
and gracefully glides away
   and it is

        all still grey
the houses grey, people grey,
cars, plants, towers and stalls grey
Maybe that’s why the bees prefer
  this quiet cell

   It is still golden here
and blues still weep in the curtains
   This is us—
          I and the bees
they live on the silvery walls,
In the sheets, under the bed,
     behind those empty canvases
and inside drawers
          next to the books,
      next to the clock,
           —the picture frames

    over the fan,
the pillows, the carpet
—inside, inside me
Around me, around the poems
    taped on the door
around me
What’s with the bees?
   maybe, they’re
maybe, they’re just my friends.

I begin to hate all art
why do you love me,
why do you not

I rub my fingers mad again
I make all faces ugly, ugly
why do you flee me,
why do you not

then I make strange things
I share too much,
in my strange things
then I boast, then I gloat
then I hide, hide, hide

then I want to clothe in paint
I want to burn all art
why do you wait,
why do you wait

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

I want to talk to you, now
that the sadness is thickening
in the air, now
that I begin to flee the night

Sombre rue settles, ergot
of rye: i feel a blackened wheat,
I feel contorted,
and worn, crumpled, contaminated
crude

now, I am past again, i am
faint, fossil, begone from the city
I roll in little tremors
through sandpaper streets
a

franctic brushwork of the winds
I am canvas, paint, the face I hate
a feeble cry
of the stray cats in crooks
you

you make me so, so thin
I buzz a wasp in my sleep, i begin
to hate the sleep
I dont... I dont want to sleep
I want to disappear tonight
I want to talk to you

If I were a bird,
I'd fly over the houses, all around the world. Peek inside the windows, watch people live by their lives and stare at faces get old. I'd look closely at every face that shone and every that did not. I'd look for You in every laugh and then in every cry, In every excited child and in every insipid adult. In a person begging for an ounce of life and in a person running from it. I'd look for You in the drowned and the one dissolving in dirt.

If I were a bird,
I'd fly high above the skies, jump above the clouds to have a glimpse of Your light. I'd ask the moon for directions to Your house, I'd trick the stars into leaking Your address. I'd ask sun who he worshiped and inquire abyss who she feared. I'd ask the owls, the eagles and the vultures the secret of a high flight so I could reach up to You and knock on Your door.

If I were a bird,
I'd fly and fly as high as I could in search of Your Grace. Use all my skills to reach You, and even though I would fail eternally, I'd still try and try until my wings withered to ashes and my being blended in with gusts of tireless wind. I'd then visit the places with wind that I could not with wings, I'd look for You till the wind too got tired and decayed in struggle.

If I were a bird,
I'd look for You in all the skies and even above.

But since I'm not
and since I can't soar high above or talk to stars or even see the whole world.

Since I'm powerless and fragile, and finite;
I'll just bow down till my forehead meets the ground that You carved only for me, I'll just cry and cry till You open your doors.
I'll wince and sing till my being starts dancing on the beat of my own sobs, I'll dance and dance till there's nothing.

And when I'll close my eyes,
in the darkness of unexpected but fully invited light,
I know I'll find You.
I know I'll catch a glimpse of You.
I know You'll be there.

You're always there.
You're always here.

The storm limps away into the night
I follow along--

out of an enigmatic temptation, I dare not fathom
I once visited the ocean they said was in love with the shore
they told me to walk bare foot on that ****** sand,
and breathe in the rosy winds
said it would help calm my ravenous heart
Ocean, they said would hear all my unsung screams

said if I gave myself to the dust, it would crawl up on me
and cover the naked of my shivering being like a wool blanket

I sat with my legs in the shallow water
and watched the giggling waves winding over each other
the sturdy tides curtly calming them down
only to be disturbed again by sudden callous gusts
Ocean, they said, would wake the child in me

running through the alleys, I call after the raging winds
but the night dozes soundly to sleep.

I walked bare foot but the seashells poked at my skin
as if desperately reaching for the flesh, or I think they did
closed my eyes; and oh the devils that I saw,
dancing their charm out; seduced, I forgot the flowery air,
but I know I inhaled it for I still feel the rose-thorns ***** my throat

The horizon smiled at me as I drew away my lids
I watched the lacy white waves ebb away
hoping they would take along what of me was left to carry

I follow you around, sailing through my vivid seas,
noting down the shrinking moons.
hoping to reach you but then I reach a village,
full of ancient wells and old kids
I wander through fields reeking with grass,
and through moors starving for it
Hoping to reach you but then I reach a city
full of luxurious graves and flooded streets
and so busy do I get tasting new drinks
and walking through puzzling, shining halls
that I forget about you or the old blue void calling me home

But that lasts for mere centuries--
Until one day some sudden chirp brings something back
a morning breeze so saltier than before
and when I see the familiar fields far away
the trees thinking, the bushes sleeping
somewhere behind the unmoving crowd,
a thin colourless line ,where the sky kisses the earth
calls out to me, singing its alluring ballads, someone familiar,
Almost a friend.

So I set off and run along the paths that lead me to you
drinks clink but I run off, villagers offer me roofs but I sail away
days blinking by, dozing off cautiously at nights,
feasting upon wild roots I run off for you, an almost friend.

And you’re there, right there, here I come, one jump away
your hand mere inches away from mine
your sound right next to my ears, whispering
forever teasing, sneaking away silently as I come closer
Like a hungry bull, I try reaching for the apple hanging by my horns

This blazed sky is no home.

When I lie on the sand
I only feel the little pearls climbing my body like ants,
They reach the top of me, pin in their nails and tie up their ropes
I wriggle and I scream then I tire and still
This is not falling asleep at all.
I feel like being dragged away into the snarling mouth of a cave
where the only noise is that of metal striking metal
knives spanking stones, daggers sighing in relief
as they slice smoothly through a skin so mine
Slow, shy sounds of my blood dripping down,
embracing the rugged ground and never letting go
Slow groaning, cracking of bones as they let go.
vessels—Oh so lovely—vessels only laughing

So I sit up.
I sit in the waves and watch them flutter about me
silently I sway along with the air, tides they greet and go
I wish they’d take me along wherever they went
maybe one day they’d leave me exhausted on an empty shore
and I’d look at the ever widening sky and be home

But they leave me behind on my very own land—
They ebb away from the shore they’re in love with
and she never follows.

sweet wishes so small
in their impossible distances, they
tickled almost, I trembled almost:
beneath ant-like trails of frisky teasings, I
was settled almost
as if moon on sea’s silk-draped skin
suddenly glittered in a glitching turbulence
and mermaids rose up and out
of their thick black skies of silver tremors
shaking beads out of damp-darkened hair
and questioning questioning around
who dare startle their monotonous dreamings
who dare tremble and
stir all dull-eyed creatures around; and
as if sea dared on
shifting reckless into the answerless air,
frenzied, and grasping at an empty night
causing hundreds strange havocs
for a moon so little

tried too hard
and I ****** up the poem
moon did not shine a Siren’s call
nor the sea, Icarus rose: I meant—
I meant— forgive
my petty tasteless decor. I meant a yearning
sloshed
against the jagged dry throat
left silvery sensations in its absence of feather, and I
could write sea only—
could have drowned blissfully hazed
had bright strings’ luring pulls I
had wished to flee
wished— wished— but wishes
so lowly true— deceiving, their dullness in
so forlorn the skies, I gasped and
gasped
stuttering wordily

imagine a brick box lined with paint where
zebra and lip-red walls wobble as I
rest my forehead in a coiling of arms
on the stubborn palm of this plastic chair—
I feel you singing singing slow as I
build myself a night wide

where water rises up like bread;
and turn all students to fish and
turn all chatter to bubbles
that slide and collide and settle by the roof
and settle and settle
undying till the room
is a pomegranate cursed with fertility, and I
dare not gasp lest another bubble
should— press and press

imagine a blue sea bubbling like
sugar that melts and melts and
melts and melts
in the slowly-shrinking pan
I shut my ears
and build myself a silence and I
feel you right here
— a few rows behind—
our separate solitudes tangled up

a song faint as feathers, as fire
lit up; as the fish babble on—
your sea-creatures whirling: and
corrals’ tickling devours
that clothe me in Magic—

imagine peach-pink lips
that smile— dragonflies swishing by
imagine buzzes that they leave to sway
in the blushing airs, imagine
grasses fluttering their pompous lashes
imagine— oh, and

a paradox of suns that
pulls me in— prickling eyes
black and brown as cocoa in coffee and
soft as foam— yet suns, you see!
I dare not see, yet return
and return I stumbling do,

skin feasts in sweetness
of a warmth serene, and
the taste lingers all day long—
swear in stars are whispers of you
tossed to constellations' lively tales
and misty dreams shroud lazy mornings
where I and you and all
the unshed covered faces of ours
are free to sprout, where we
cling to limbs and limbs in
the deep rich beds of our soils

I lift my head as the teacher enters
and I know the water you
breathe in too
the churning viscosity presses in in

your swift silver thoughts
drowning in noise— and no one is listening
to the teacher—
my iron neck I twist to glance your way
fast as the flickering tail of a squirrel, yet
you clasp me still
— there—
the clack as breaths lock and hold

you sit all alone and, oh, do I—

I wish I could stand up and swim my
way to you
'hey, this seat’s empty, right?
mind if I sit?'
your orange 'yes' or maybe a leaf-like
nod, or a gust of shrug perhaps
then we talk and talk with
the fish all rest, and maybe we forget the smother
maybe we forget the fish

but I— a statue sunk centuries ago
waves kiss my valour and lure it away
star-shapes settling on my tongue
******* out words, and—

heart a squid blooming and clenching
I curse the idol I have built of myself
sit and sit I sessile a stone and
try not to drown, try not to drown
to boil to bleed or scream a soundless bubble alright
you, the fantastical, faraway land resting

a glimmer motionless where sea
licks the void, where children go
when there is nowhere to go,
where I think I will row one day one day one—
can you tell I have a crush on you?
I hope not

take my hand and bless me a metaphor
wholly mine— or— maybe I could spin you a blossom as your
lovely gown teases the night—

alas, but here begins the teacher

When leaf drips off the plants like dew
I know I have failed
Fog on poor gold settled thick
And knuckly branches grasp at my trousers
As they whisper by

Like a nightmare full of the dead

Sorry, I say
With that same wet-paper voice of mine
My footprints forgotten
On dust-dressed tiles
I cannot water you, dear Pothos
I need not
You have no limbs left to feed and
I know I have failed

Failed.

(And so mine a being
In an echoing of souls)

Failed?
Such pretty your tales
And freeing miseries

Sinking frantic
In a devour of spring
These the tentacles of my beautiful Aloe
These the stout roses
My,
My mirthful Jasmines
And grasses–– alive!

Failed?

Green at last!

You bathe in blues and
Craft tragedies from mud
Ruin your love
And despair a bed-slave pretty

Could I weep–– interrupt or scream
But I am wood and they are not

Failed?
Or would you rather?
For fall for you is an effortless flight
And funeral the only peace
Then mourn!

Could I shut the window and
Bar it against the raging city
But breaks— it breaks breaks breaks!

Mourn and mourn!
Till the daylight goes to sleep
And mourn with your wretched stars
For the night

You mock!
Oh, be voiceless, sessile
Thorns again!

And when in the morning
The moon is dead
And thinner our stems
We will say
With that same parched clinging of ours:
We are not dust yet
Are you?

––

1.
salt-caked fingers
peel each other

2.
slimy tongue
toils in vain

3.
soft lips
metal beneath teeth

4.
barbaric generator
clears its throat

5.
on these beaten blue windings
sun keens

In dream, abundant
As roses to a girl
Whirl, pool, whirlpool
Wool, wisps, tickle
Taunt. In dreams, awake
Wide-eyed and red
Haunting choir, your joy
Multiplied, magnified,
Colourised. Shimmering,
Hung up to dry, to drip
In beads, as grief
On ground. In dreams,
Alive. Rattling, rumbling,
Merciless as a train
Touchable, unstoppable
A body of metal, of human
Full, of child, man, woman
Well, I – I I stand
Like a beehive at work
I – I – I curl my toes, my fingers
My bones. Contort. I am
Gyre, turning, turning,
Gyre, astray. You sigh
And it spreads like a scream
Hot, smokey, the steam-engine
Churns. Limbs move, move and
And the sky moves with them
The sun blinks between
Your windows, the ground
Mumbles, disturbed, grumbles.
And I, well. I – I do not
Give to the flight of soul
I do not limit myself to
Sweet. I am full on sweet.
On infatuation and yearn.
There is no music, no disection
Of beast. The violins move
Without their kin, and with them
Moves the world. I am
No pilgrim, O pilgrim love.
In dream, instilled, a storm at work
Red. Blue. Green. Red.
Blue. Green. You move
the birds. You do not
move me.

innocent blue
it’s not the truth
it’s just the story I tell to you

say, gone now
all the old times forgotten
we flicker away in bliss

roll the dice
select this, forget then
never let it go then

I was just bored
watching the night
I had it all, I had it all

I need it now
covered in fade, taken from me
rolled up and stored

artefact of old
I want so much to hold
I become small again

I begin to hear too much again
see too large
speak too thin again

now it sits by
in pieces renewed
pretty and gold

hope that you find it
hope that I too
could find it for you

We forget the tides as they claw on
Into the purple oceans of old
We forget the shores
Thousands, ten thousands
And then so many more
As ***** mix in with the seagulls
And seashells we lose
Through toiling of wave wave wave
Everything passes

It is you for me
Through the summer winds
The winter winds
And colours else
That may curl and go

I linger there
I touch your hair
Two sweethearts
In the good blue room
Tip-toeing
Like my brush
And twisting
Like yours

Two painters
In simple linen
Turpentine, like
Your hair
It is you for me

Do you remember the sky sinking?
That fall, when we climbed up our vague tree
and watched the nights burn
     softly on
Those naked arms,
                 and our pricking skins
You told me that
the dark seemed quite obese
I wondered how it could be

remember the dawns
  that lingered before us
and birds with jewels between their beaks
    Sun like a bruise clawed its way out
We never did see— never unseeing
ever on watch, yet the clouds
    grew above
and we only drew forests with our hands

yours upon mine upon
  yours upon—
and down, down plunged it all
First, gold
          then the glass
We jumped in weeping puddles
and forced the mud into birthing birds
Then came
     the silvers
and with them, those malnourished winds
Do you remember

the smoke that descended down the cliffs?
That winter, we melted
            with our pink flames
and slept away those snarling wolves
Beneath forts built of woollen quilts
        our limbs tangled, tangled
     with our tales
You told me the dark
     seemed quite obese
I nodded like
  a broken, puppet horse

then—
Dust gushed out the vessels of air
   and cars coughed
And down, down
                came it all
Dawns befriended our solitary dusks
and moons sped up their dance
I ran my fingers down
     the green of your strands
You introduced a ladybug to my skin

down, down tumbled nothing
       First the browns
then the blues
We buried our barren feet in sticky sands
and you told me
It hurt
where, I asked
here.
and there were you kissed

And blues fell upon blues
’til cold, shivering, stumbled away
And our tree was a painting
    on the lips of a stream
Restless, it lurked out our reach
and the sky
swelled and swelled
till a heavy haze came plummeting hither
And above us was left nothing but—

It hurts, you said
I asked you where
here
     here
  here—
the blues embraced the lonely of our land
and kissed it all over
  all over
Huts, playgrounds, markets—
Wells, trenches, hills and hills
children, the rest
     and voiceless shrubs
All devoured.

Do you remember the bleak stars
as they struggled to flutter
    in the smothering vacancy
Then the summer smiled
and stole our dying skies, and
  all the quiet broke loose
        in our bleached towns
We in a moor sprayed with stillness
    treaded through
the misty of our eyes
        feet upon cinders jagged
where does it hurt, I asked
  nowhere
nowhere, nowhere—

There, she lies on the altar
Almost held the sun she—
almost in her hands
Opened up, a rose-bud chaste
petal by petal by blood, with
a sting, so sweet and sweet, as
sunset reborn a bee; she was
gold and silver and black at once.

Almost held the sun she—
and no wax wings used
Oh, Icarus, love you did a wild sky,
— yourself a light-licked doom  
as your father cried,
Your father cried for you.
A veil as simple sour starlight she wore
as wings of wasps as beetles she giggled

Icarus, flew that you
—and with tongue-tied elation too
Icarus,
she rambled on for hours long.
A letter she held in spring kissed hands
—I will wed you to the sun, her father had sworn.
The sun—and a sun he was,
child of the sea, some sword in honey
dipped; now her awaiting.
And blushed she did herself a dawn

The altar, on the altar.
Almost held the sun she—
Swallowed a mayhem for the father's sin.
Icarus, tell me of the plummet.
Tell me of the greens you saw,
of blues, of whites, of the whirling world—
Men go around around her
their soles all ready
to crush lost skulls an empty moor.

Twirling,
the dust, like may have her hair
before the wedding day
Strands and strands, gently styled—

Spears, swords, rubbed to mirrors,
to lakes lifeless
Armors and ships laden with life, with
sails, the fluttering doves;
As the winds dance once more—
as harbors vacated, as waves torn apart for the horde, as move they on— on too the sun— as
She still lies.

Icarus, Icarus, was it the ocean
that cupped its palms, or did the soil cave in
as down into dark's slick throat you slid?
Surely, was soft, the sea's well-loved mouth,
Surely soft or true

She lies on the altar
a trinket glossy on a hoof, a ****** in the bell,
how does one say—
the valley of lilies, she grew it inside.
Spilled out on the stones, they are fed
to the flies.
Almost held the sun she—
Icarus, must you know

You did not sleep a wretched silence
within the womb of war.
No crescent blades you drank down a leaking throat—
She lies on the altar, vanquished for moon
— for metal upon bone
for blood, for blood, for blood.

A father’s green promise—
Seasoned to rust before the king
Icarus, on the altar she lies—
a ripened land far, far away lures her king
to another rosy worship.
Icarus, Icarus,
on the altar

In you I left a little kiss
A speck on lip of lip.
Like a leaf may
On a leaf spring-coated
Before it slides off and off
And into the brown below.
Like a star may,
On the window of a house
Cold in houses cold.

I lingered by the shores of you
Dried, a bone,
Memorising the hues of
A sweet, sweet marrow—
In sun it glittered, in moon sang—
In you, in you, you.

This restless room—
And ants devour around
With their fast steps and abdomens angry
And a scene of us
Through deep, hardened dirt, I dig out:
You held a garland, of foliage weaved,
I smiled a kingdom
All alive and gold.

And the young leaf will forget
Of the rusty feather
That stumbled past it,
One young dawn—
And the house
In houses lone,
Will sublime
In the day’s pretty love, but

In the blue, a bottled letter—
Too small a gift
For an illiterate sea, but
Hold it it does still,
In its secretive embrace.

So, when you born
To an arid tree—
And in blood of stars I wade
As down descends
The sky we built,
Do not cut open the insects
In your frenzied search for me—
All the kingdoms
Could I smile
In you I left with their riches and green.

Dried, a bone, I
Remember the hues
Of a sweet, sweet fruit—
In blooms it blooms, in stars
On frosted windows
In you, in me, you.
So, when I sway
In this lovely quiet,

You sway too
In the dawn.
And born you
Then born you
And reborn on a spring—
In you lives a little kiss
And wilt you,
It wilts.

Today,
as I stared out the window
of a car taking a sharp turn.
Today,
as I was slammed back to the seat
of a car coming to a sudden stop.
Today,
as I mildly heard the driver say
his grateful prayer and then curse.
Today,
as I saw sudden glimpses of moon
shyly following me behind the trees.
Today,
as I stared a little too long at streetlights
and theirs colors melting on sweaty glass.
Today,
as I watched a car rush on the road,
slip on the water, then spin and scream.
Today,
as I heard lucky drivers curse at each other
for ****** dents on their worthless cars.
Today,
as I was drifted away with the vehicle
making its way out of the traffic jam.
Today,
as I looked at my insipid reflected
on the black trees lit by the crescent;
                                                       ­                    my eyes, cold and placid,
                                                        m­y skin, blue like the midnight sky,
                                                                ­         and my movements, slow,
                                                           ­                                     as if hopeless
                                                        ­                                           and extinct.
I thought I saw death
looking straight in my eyes.
I thought I saw death
give me a beautifully weak smile.
I thought I heard her say
that she had come for my being.
I thought I saw a moon
shimmer right through her face.

I thought I saw death
but really,
it was just me.
drowsily reflected by the cold glass.

Not still, no, the rumble still plays
With thunder
And vehicles onwards go
There are so many clouds
And albeit too far their talks
I can almost imagine

No poems or music
Weaved upon lyres
Today, they too
Are polluted with normality
Such treacherous natures
Of this ever-stirring yonder
The surface speaks art,
And in depths aridity crawls

Cruel, so cruel their lightness
How I painted and sang
Of their rich tummies
How I danced in their blood

They chirp now a vacant gossip

I should’ve known
I should’ve lurked away
From their shows
Breathe now I in the rue and in a dim, dim fury
So cruel, so cruel the blue
So cruel and cold
In its silence
I hummed my throats parched
In mine, it vanishes, vanishes to grey

But tread on
The car stops and I slide out
Back in my rehearsed role
My stinging skin melts beneath the mask
The classroom roars

It is awfully quiet today

I mingle sometimes
and sometimes subside also
lost too, and wave too
sometimes; but here and there
there and then
washed up on shore, I am
glancing confusedly around, and I am
pecked and poked and
picked and tossed and turned roundround

and then, then
blue comes
and within it, glittery dust
and as I am slowly buried alright
and as I am alright almost
a tiding comes
from winds’ thick gossips
of a tiding bog
that will claim me again
and then falls, and pulls and it claims me, yes

and so the nights drip down on dawn
and I mingle, mingle almost, sometimes

I wonder what lonely sees
 women with pretty eyes
— a library in the night
a classroom with broken chairs

white-boards
         and bullet-holes
echoes in the halls,
giggles on the swings—
a group of laughing men

wine glasses with their clinks
an unread book—
     a wet matchstick box

I wonder what lonely sees—
when he wanders around the towns
  — whether
endless moors beneath    glass-lid skies
  empty roads,
and emptier cadavers —

or
— just the world

as it is—

painting is butchery
is beautification of breaths

as they bubble hastily out

sometimes mad
like suddenly breaking glass
or pond

sometimes springs
tinkling down stones

painting is thunder
slowly rising
or the perfect fury of it

I hesitate, stuck astray,
as the hues awaiting
wait

reap or harvest, must I burn or
decorate?

but, tentative, I breathe
inevitably on

and suddenly
it is all here