Today is the day
I am chosen and lifted
High up from where I lay and
Threaded through that small hole
In your ear.

Jingle, jangle, cling.
Beads or brass or sunny glass,
We swing with each way you turn your head
******, it’s a sight
Gordon Bennett, what a delight

Gentle shuffling sets us swaying
The Sunday morning music
Is playing as we dance
About your lobes
And the smell of coffee

Rises, splendid.
With each sip
We glimpse the ceiling,
Too and fro about the kitchen
Rhythms that are trodden daily

Outside in this luscious garden,
We flutter,
Somewhat wildly,
Chattering, as a gust of wind
Pronounces itself unexpectedly

Vibrations.
Buzz, shaking us aggressively
The sewing machines hum
Chugs relentlessly
Fingers creating elegance deftly

We clang and clatter
With movements of laughter
Bouncing brightly in good company
Hearing new stories and
All the old ones again.

Back in the bedroom,
We’re slipped off
Buried in palm
And placed back down
For another day.

If you were to open the hills, all of the past would pour out.
Treasure, piling on bones, piling on pottery, piling on stones
Secrets and lives. Spilling out, in
A flood of velocity, time breaking forwards
Waking up above the ground, a stranger.
You are small, in the wake of all that.
Caught up to your ankles. Trudging
Trudging for as long as your calves hold out
Trudging and looking
Scanning and sweeping
Bowing your head and trailing a hand through the rubble
The rubble stares back.
Throbbing beneath your palm
Charging you with something to know.
You fall to your knees, getting down low and crawling
Strands of hair fall into your vision
As you crawl onwards.
As you crawl your hair gathers treasures
Coins and jewels and collar bones quiver with a force
Melding into one.
Callouses cover your hands now, you're in deep.
Been trudging onwards for miles. The hills gaping wide.
The treasure spins into strands, miles long, weighty strands
They know you, reaching up like familiar hands
And pulling you down,
Roots of an ancient kind
You peer through the weight of tired eyes
The pinched sun going out and
You desperately seeking
Tearing at the ground at the piles of all that past
And letting go of a dreadful wailing sound
Killing the air. There's a glint
Onwards, up ahead
Taking charge. You drag, pull, peel yourself, just a little further
Onwards, just up ahead.
And brushing aside the lint,
You have it in your hands, restored. A little piece of what went missing
Rolling over into time, your hair wraps you, plaits you
The grand hills gulp and the past sinks back inside.

I'm sitting here.
I'm standing.
My forehead is sweaty, my arm drops to my side
I can't keep still. Fidgeting and carving out my anticipation with my nails into plump skin, that is begging to burn
To feel sharp and hot and draw attention, my attention, away.
It's uncomfortable to be this aware.
My cuff itches from the sweat and cheap nylon mix. Why is this all I own, Why does it fall over me like a waterfall. All downhill. Weight, that wears me. Saggy.
I glare at my feet, throw my hands into my pockets and immediately pull them out again. In, out.
She wears heels, they clack past. Him, in the leather soles, taps by. He wears boots. She's in pumps.
I wipe my palms on my trousers
Lift my wrist, pushing back the sleeve, I'm impatient. And I want everyone to know it. Him over there, I want him to know it. Her on the opposite side has to know, because I can't be the only one to know it. To carry it all. Then I might actually melt. Feel my shoes fill with water and my heavy suit to plummet, as I cascade over the edge, liquified.
Not still? I lift my head to the sky, God it's bright, dash back down again. Bobbing. Time is dragging.
It shouldn't be much longer
I turn my head from left to right, for something to do. To appear unsure of the route. Will it come steaming from around the right corner or the left.
It's so hot.
Why is it so hot? Today, really?
I lift a hand again, to comb back the stray hairs. Sweep them back into place.
Hands in pockets
Hands on hips
Arms folded
Down by my side
Foot tapping
Now pacing
The birds are singing
The sun's still blinding
Now determinedly still, until I think I hear something.
I whip my head, to the left
And in the distance I see it. Drawing nearer.
Crushing forwards.
My chest. Won't my chest be still.
I settle in tension. Now, it's unavoidable. Any minute we'll be face to face.
And what will I do then?

You, have conflict with the chill night air.
Tussling tight in your bag for warmth
Knotting yourself in twisted clothes,
A chattering of bones, that won’t quiet...
Discomfort strikes harder
Flipping its attitude in anger.
You boil in nausea as the sun rises
Clawing fingers over limbs, breaking out
Of your tent that’s abominably silent.
The quiet culprit, burns as an oven.
Uninterested in your clogged airways
And ketchup red eyes, glued shut in sleep.
You stalk, like Gary Oldman, burnt by sun
As Dracula, weakened by day,
By the pollen. That has you sneezing
Twelve or fifteen in a row,
Stoney rings about your eyes, you meet mine
And brandishing an arm up high
(To smear away the allergy) you say,
‘Never again. Never again in my life
Will I, go camping.’

It’s stoic and still, flushed in white light,
Yellow and blue.
Hollowed out in my wall,
The cupboard.
Disturbing its silence with our screams and sweaty touch
It frames us.
The art of me and you.
The sound our colour makes spills out
Over the sill, my flesh pressed in fury
Up against five walls,
Clasping. Our eyes lingering,
I admire you.
Soaking up your instinct.
The art of me and you.

Almost immediately in time with the weight my chin took in being placed in the palm of my hand, the thoughts that floated so delicately in space, transparent for my eyes, extinguished completely. I will have to rack and painfully grasp them into being again.

It doesn’t take much
To be ****.
Drop out of your suit,
Forget everyone else’s
Meaning of crude.

But your fingers
Are burning cold
And your heads,
Hot as the sun
Might be to hold.

Aches that numb,
The first fear
Of eyes passing over,
In white light
You appear.

Your music plays,
Hands draw fast.
Time wobbles,
Sliding out of position,
At last.

It doesn’t take much
To be ****.
Drop out of your suit,
Forget everyone else’s
Meaning of crude.

Sometimes when sorrow sinks in
I worry a wailing might screech from my chest
And every person for miles might hear it.
Or feel it shake the air, like hot flame
Ripples carrying my saddest indulgence
As the beast that weighs me down, croons.
So that people quaking, step out of the way
And we have room to sing the lonely wail, some more.

As the shadows tick across the park
Sun stretching out with might
Reaching for an hour
It didn't have to fight

Those who lounge about the grass
Let the sun sink their skin through
And crawl like hands, from quarter past
Into the warmth of quarter to

Imprisoned in the shine
These willing people stay
Moved slowly by a sun tide, until,
Dowsed by cloud, chill and grey.

You're beautiful, he said.
You're so beautiful, but why are you shaking your head?
And I too, breathing deeply, thought how
That you only, wanted me now,
We were drunk and lonely
And for me it was the moment only.
I didn't want what you couldn't mean
I wanted skin to be touched, not my self to be seen.

Gargoyle faces, I'd like to be one
In some people I know, I frequently see them.
Gleeful and wicked breaks the skin on their face,
A brief encounter with the gargoyle
Makes adopting a grimace loudly appealing
The only down side, is being wedged to the ceiling

Leaning with the door to pull it shut,
Peering wearily at stairs that the ice had cut.
Ice was in the air. And under every street light
It darted, like a shoal of silver fish, might.
With each step taken, the frost would bleed away
Marking time to the ground, next to what still lay
The cold, made it quiet. Burnt briefly by a laugh,
Throaty with wonder, seeing what it might have.
Looming vast was the night sky over all,
Everything below expected snow to fall
Walking alone, under rare disarray,
I was swept up and sunken away.

I’ve known many people
well and with love,
It's difficult to suggest what I’m thinking of;

I knew them time over time
again, we’d laugh to stay sane
smiling politely to strangers
who’s faces were all the same.

I’ve known many people
well and with love,
They couldn’t always know what it was I thought of;

We’d serve drinks, food, fold clothes
only reveal what we chose
when calculating in corners
or bantering loudly over bar.

I’ve known many people
well and with love,
I know what I’m saying isn’t unheard of;

Public and repetitive and social
I'd say, is the bond that we'd share
before we all moved away,
Where we’d discover a new few who'd undoubtedly say,

I’ve known many people
well and with love,
You yourself are one of the friends I speak of.

Over breakfast, over tea,
I can hear the scramble of electricity
It crackles in the corner ceiling
Giving me an uncomfortable feeling,
Like the house might suddenly BLOW
And they'll be nothing left to show,
Because of this electricity.
Then, when I was eyeing the roof
My dad told me the unsavoury truth
That cackling of electricity
Is no longer such a mystery.
The noise above, is wasps.
The **** things are living there
Even with the lack of air,
They fly about, invisibly
Their wings buzzing, not rhythmically,
So our house is not about to blow
And that at least, is a comfort to know.

There's this light, really hollow expanse in my chest
and it fills with electric stars, each blinking rapidly.
I'll wear my jumper, loose bottoms and socks
and I am engulfed by a sharp breeze, fleeing in
through our open back door.
I know that smell. It's cold and fluttering and full
of purpose. And it pats my face as I breath it in.
I think how easy it could be, and would have been,
way in the past to believe in Gods and who prove their
power by rylling up the weather.
Blowing in a storm.
All thunderstorms smell the same, wherever you
are. And they each speak in heavy voices, rattling low.
I suppose it's on you to look inside at your grievances
unpaid to them. But I simply love the change.
The power in the sky that strikes and rumbles,
and the waiting, oh the waiting...
As the clouds openly fuse and grind darker, the smell
of the thunder growing thicker and bounding about.
It's like a miracle how fast it happens, how much
energy it feeds to everything.
Time that was the insect looking at us, we are obnoxiously
slow. Is now us looking at the insect, who is amazingly
fast. Until...
There's a moment when that energy reaches its
capacity, the sky squeezing. And you wait
Dddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddd
The rain is unleashed. And sound everywhere explodes!
Cause it's heavy and it's coming fast.
Hopping back to the door, I sit just inside its frame
my face stretching with glee, because everything
around me and inside me feels unimportant,
forgotten, under this display.
Small, sitting in the door way, the wind flicking
sprays of water your way. I count in between
the lashes of lightening
One Mississippi
Two Mississippi
Three Mississippi
Four, imagining the maker of these grizzling
static sparks. The ground, the sky, my heart,
pulsing.

Light pooling on a surface
And breaking through in beams
Hundreds of passageways allowing this spectacle
To fill one room with sun
Shining, flickering dust particles
Batting against your skin
And this same air swollen with a thousand
                                                  beatin­g insect wings
Which to the light all softly cling
Mashed in colours that the glass carved in
Flying shapes that join the buzz
And spiralling greens lumbering towards the sky
Resting, hunched and pressed against the glass
So shuddering with life they seem to sigh
Solid, light stone in colour
Is the current, wrapped around its base
River like and over flowing
Is this place
The great outside pointing in
Like a planet inverted or a doctors blue box
Tended, and yet containing a mind of its own
It is mightily over grown
And that is the way it should be

Crowds of people big and small
Flowing through our canvas walls,
Their words bashing, one loud hum
And those, who are hidden from them
Me and the other strange folk
The ones who breath fire instead of smoke
Now, wriggling into sparkling skins
And rubbing foreign powder on our chins
We cackle and spit,
Excited we'll fly and flash magic
For delighted faces who
Are wild and soaring
And the big animals, softly snoring
With one eye open and the croc is crying
And the strong man might be dying
But the lights are beaming
And the rest of the world is seeming distant.
We march together out to capture wonder,
Of which you can't manufacture.
Sprinting, leaping, galloping, fast.
Rolling, dancing, smiling, aghast
People everywhere, with shocked wide eyes
Consuming hungrily every one of our lies
My heart is thumping, thumping in my breast,
Soon I'll reach my high, rock nest.
Feet pinched and back straight
All mouths hang open. Wait,
I fall.
Caught. Tight around both ankles,
They thought below I was sure to mangle.
I fly through the air with the look of great ease,
I'm the daring young woman on the flying trapeze

Train rides and trains fare
Hurling over hills and through fields
And we sit together, collectively
Calmly, reading, typing, talking
A train community

The train jumps with apology
When your legs twitch or meet
Muttering sorry, barely lifting a head
To mark a general unease
At the close space we all paid to use

Seeming so personal to share a seat
With another who finds a song to choose
Over conversation with a stranger
Shared time
We share daydreaming

Hot and absent
With blurs rushing inwards and out
Flying up stairs that curl and bend
And a constant shout of noise
My head spins, my eye sends a glance
Purposefully at many signs
I can't chance too many wrong turns
My brain turns to wine, the smell makes it ache
I follow toothpaste coloured overalls
In a number of steps to counters and beds
Heavy and tense, both fall on me.
I clutch a card that I've read over again
Over again
Again I am lost
Every wing looks the same
I know that time costs the same as fresh air
Window panes here only open enough
To let in a fly
And a breeze not a cough
Rattles my heart when I near you.
You appear small and soft
Not much of you there
In that armchair propped up by pillows
Where we kneel by your side, holding your hand
And that equivalent draft billows in green
Life from out there prods and it lifts
With us talking to you,
Quiet and spent and wistful
The alphabet brings nothing new
We walk out pondering, my arm through yours
It is just us two

Changing my mind, changing your mind.
how is it that feelings alter without us knowing?
Something that means so much, is forgotten
and I can only imagine
a curtain
a veil
a road
a sky
a place where it goes, to lose its intensity
and when you catch up, when it comes back to you
it is weakened, like tea
I wonder where that absent place is
I reckon it's time
other things mattering more, instead of less
like which biscuit to choose,
to have with your tea
bourbon
digestive
hobnob

Oh, I would like to be a giant and fill
the dips and lunges all hills and mountains make.
Stride heavy and far in only a few paces and often
find my head in a cloud of clouds when I stray too high, breathe the air
deeper. And be much more a part of the night, that black blue
if I stand on the horizon, I'll make a mark much stronger than you

I like the silent strangers talk
That's tapped out like morse code
Rare like pennies on the road.
It takes me by surprise,
The talking in my head subsides
When a strangers flirt and smile
I lift my head to find.

If I had past lives and reappeared in past people
Would I recognise myself?
Would it just be in the feeble
Way that they blink and turn my chin
Way that they think or I begin
A smile

Would it matter who I were?
Someone of consequence
Or one of the many poor.
People are vibrant
More than a name
It seems so unlikely that we'd be the same

Draw on our eyebrows
Paint our face white
Plait our red hair into the night
Smear fearsome markings over our skin
We serve society
And are raised by our kin

Instincts we have
And memories we hold
For these people past, they may have been told
The same
Recollect the same pain
And we maintain a sense of who they became

Made up of many
It is not simply you
And each of these people, push their way through
In this blink, or the way we turn this chin
The way we think, or the way we begin
A smile