I am an old dog.
Fur thick from winter nights
Under stars, paws hard from
Scratching at the
Insides of doors.

Sad old eyes see through
Actions and words, reading
Intentions and tendencies.
Biting only to teach
Or carry.

I see the kicks behind your steps.
The nervous punches behind your
Patting.
Invade my space, and I'll make you
A cat person.

I don't have time for your
Self-pity and negative meditations.
Reincarnation has finally granted
Me this simple existence of
Non-illusion.

Picture a leash, and I'll
Never walk at your side.
Free from your two legged
Two-facedness; anything human is
Puppy to me.

Don't try to force me. Or own me.
You'll only fail. You'll always
Fail at taking the animal
Out of the
Animal.

I didn't come this far
To be tame.
I didn't work so hard at not
Needing, to end up begging for
A full bowl.

We danced toward
each other's wounds

with gentle step
and touched inside

and now the bleeding
has resumed

and all this blood
is hard to hide.

I'll sing of all the ways I miss you
and how this sorrow came to be
the verses, lies I should have whispered
the chorus, truths in harmony.

The melody will break the silence
and call your broken heart to me
to be repaired by love unyielding
to broken hymns in minor key.

I remember you standing
in the full and easy living.
wearing, that night, your slightest frock

a conspiracy of breath.
that collected, around your body,
like the murmuration  of tiny birds

a loose smothering
of soft luminous folds
smoldering like a dusky halo

the merest graze of weave.
a delicate trace of distance
that clouded the sound of flesh

the skirt fell like an ocean
or a breeze rippling the rain
onto the reach and flow of your limbs

Like an old unwritten story
from the dark earth and brimming sky
it whispered a forgotten language
in the rustle and sigh of dance

I push, with all my might
as my mind attacks your silence
and my heart whispers stop.

I believe for a second, then stumble,
clutching at hope,
in a last ditch attempt 
to hold on to myself,
to you,
to us.

I push again, harder now
drowning in defiance
as tears burn pallid flesh
and skin is softly bruised
by diagnosed loathing and sharpened hands.

I push once more
your name now an echo
too late upon my lips
an unwanted cry to the weary,
ever to remain unanswered.

Is HP now a T.V guide?
It drives me to distraction
to see these adds on the front page
when I want some poem action.
Our poets are all writing
and posting stuff to read
but the room is being taken up
by adds for crap tv.
So listen up dear spammers
this warning you should heed
shove your ****** adverts
anywhere but on my feed!!