****** mess
Red white dress.
Heaving breast
Bleeding chest.

Red on white...
A color so beautiful..
To make things right.
Makes us feel so Dutiful.

Grab a Knife
And a pen.
Use the ink of life
In the end.

Flash like a bolt.
Run while you can.
Poetic cult.
Now you understand.

I am looking for a place to return to.
I have no strength.

I find myself exposed, one skewed shadow
pulling roots beneath the sun.

Overnight I became wary of everything.
I remark at my own existence. That I could walk away from it.
As all colours part from me.

I open my mouth. I am full of willows and moth wings.
I look for words. I find the old ones and dig up
empty rooms.

I have become so simple.
My anger slouches in the corner like a rook.  Shuffling, always shuffling.
But he will not speak to me.

This is a living thing.
The paradox is a minor landscape.

No time believes in me.

I will say it again.
I woke this morning and found myself missing.

I'm on the outs
With our beloved sun
So I associate with
The moon
Spending my nights awake
And my days unconscious
Is my preference
I'd give the moon a hug
If I didn't hate
Things being in
My space
Hoo.

It rains.
A truffled scent
glitters
in dead leaves,
naked trees.
Transudation
into the depths
of the night.

had a cup of tea
it was icy cold

mended a heart
it was out of date

looked up
there was nothing

took a peek within
it was wide shut

put it all to rest
went for a dock in blue