O, how fantastic it would be
To carry time in my pocket
So I could make it right
Whenever I wanted
I could stretch it long
Or cut it short
I could skip the hurt
Enjoy the pause
Would I forget it all
If I could revisit
Would I close my eyes
If I can’t blink and miss it
Would I wish it end soon
Or never again
I think about it often
Every now and then.

What happens now you aren’t here to tend the tree in your room —
Will your light still germinate, will you lay your seed to bloom?
Am I to become keeper, gardener of your belonging —
To turn your memory into a greenhouse, spilling, overbrimming?
Am I to delude myself into believing, that your leaving was too soon?
Will you come to me at twilight or can you only be seen at noon —
Dappled gently amongst the grove, a frayed bouquet of sunbeam —
Will you ride the tops of our river to the source of my stream?
Am I relegated to meet you — asleep — in daydream —
Or can I spot you on the backs of spoons — at an angle — which you gleam?
Is that shine no longer special, has the metal lost its lustre —
I beg you, tell me — how much more force of will must I muster?
If I close the curtain now, would you call it premature —
Or would you be okay with me just not quite closing the door?

I am a Wasp in the glass
Though I long to be the Bee
Buzzing low above the grass
Courting Flower to bear seed
Bash my skull toward the light
To form a crack before me
Yearning to touch — despite
Being O, so prickly
Will I learn to pollinate
The Garden — beckons me, sweet
Look for a petiole, to *******
Make intoxicant — Honey!
May you savour me from afar —
I hear distance puts you at ease —
See me shooting past — a Star
To make a wish upon thee
I fear what holds me back
A cunning clarity unseen
For even foresight I lack
Though the crystal is plenty clean
No speck of dust, or food, or warmth
Only wings. Waxen; fatigued
I beg to be held. To be swarmed
Just not like this, trapped beaneath
Now I can only soar, so tall
Before smoke beckons me, to sleep
I fear the stumble before the fall
Deceptive Summers that precede
I dream of a hive, abundant
Brimming with ***** and bodies
Of those alike and less repugnant
The kind you love to set free.

How long will this stinging take
To wholly set in and metabolise
Search amongst muddy waters
Pursue a clearer compromise
I reach for you - Sulphur -
Find myself the gilded Fool
Iron makes a likely weapon;
Pyrite a lousy tool.

Yet you appear so indifferent
Or perhaps alike, otherwise
I wouldn’t hold my breath
Believe in worthwhile sacrifice
You may find me in the bush
Aflame before the Prophet
Plunge your poker in - spread thin -
My heart if you wish to stop it

Strike a match, test my metal
Will our souls still catalyse
Was his prediction correct
What the Alchemist surmised
Or has our time ran out
Have we reached our constant yet
How dastardly - equilibrium -
Were we pernicious when we met?

Is there any merit in looking
Back on methods - revised
Is there any hope now that
The chill has metastasised?
I would contact the Smith
If he could solder back - connection -
But our glow has dwindled now,
Without it there’s no resurrection.

Though I’m overcome - ravenous -
Your appetite dissatisfies
My belly runs on empty
Without you, comes my demise
Nears a cold stove
And the Chef, grown tired.
Farewell, my loving Sulphur.

Yours Truly,
a fading Fire…

Mistook your niceness, for kindness
Couldn’t draw a line between the two
For my pencil had become too blunt
And my paper - too thick - to tear through
My eraser too pliable and worn
Kneaded down to a waning pulp
I tried shaping into a kind of moon
But instead made a waxing fault
That grows wider between the sternum
Carves me down the middle - twofold
Fleshy mounds of ****** grief
Unable to bridge back the whole
Pictures now lie placid, dormant
Stacked neatly, one atop the last
Withering - light-fast - fading
From memory, it’ll pass.

I don’t like people at my feet
So, I could never be an emperor, or a king
Though I believe myself capable
Of just about anything
But loving – that’s a tricky one.
How does one go beyond –
I wonder – to be overcome
With wonderment of another
Find salt – beneath a fingernail –
Of the Earth’s splendour
Licking them clean, one by one,
Until there are none left to surrender
To me, it is beautiful but immodest
To bear one’s soul so unabashedly
So bare-naked, weak and honest
That you throw off one’s shoes
Trade them for an embrace and warm breath
Old vestments, at the foot of the bed
And at mine, just you.

I am a bundle of thread
I am a thorn
I am unspooling
I am shorn
I am a needle
I am the haystack
I am off-beaten
I am the path
I am a carriage
I am a horse
I am the outcome
I am the cause
I am the future
I am the past
I am the now
I am what lasts
I am a soldier
I am a fool
I am the Weapon
I am a Tool
I am rusted
I am unhinging
I am broken but
I am glinting
I am fractured
I am golden
I am beauty
In eyes beholden.