A heart beats thinly
under the winter's cold skin
it's sunken pulse fades..

Each time
he opened up
she took a part of him
and kept it for a bullet

each time
he opened up
he waited ...
...expectantly

and was disappointed

but in the end
because it was the end
she opened up too

with every bullet
she'd saved

until his screams
burned remorse
in to her eyes..

Trees curl their toes
holding tight
the shifting fields
of yellow grain,
thin air roars
like an avalanche  
through the branches
and a family of rooks
tilt forward like
skiers on the piste...

Like a
crooked
tooth
she played
on his
mind
just
enough
to keep
him
from
smiling...

She traced
the patterns pressed
by the grass
into my knees

with gentle lips
and fingertips
as light as
falling leaves...

i’m lost without you, did i mention that?


i scrape my brain cells that hold the memory of you
the way you remove dead flesh from a heel
and i keep the skin cells in tiny glass jars like portable museums.


i carry them everywhere for emergencies
opening them up at dinner parties
while the normals are concentrating on the cooking method of a spatchcock.



i pull you out from my secret purse
hidden under socially self conscious tables
and i roll your flesh in my hands until you’re real again

while nodding in agreement that thyme and lemon jus is always a wise choice for a side.


it’s a stupid ritual really
one that serves only to widen the divide between me
and that big chance Buddha moment:

‘being ******* present’


such a noble pursuit
but always dull and motionless in your absence
all i notice is the loudness of our silence

like a train station in those quiet despair hours
between 11pm and tomorrow.



Btw, if you see a girl running that’s me
and i can assure you
it will be from this chance for godhood
and what all those new agers chant about.

* the now *

god i hate that cruel catch phrase
that ******* of platitudes

forcing its sobering focus
on the inescapable fact that all your critical choices

made on a whim
appearing now as regrettably dumb.


Like that flippant goodbye i threw around at you
as if i would ever feel that way again
about anyone

and no
I never did.


you see, my heart’s a cowboy
too foolhardy with the lasso
that hip gun too
always going off

especially each time you’re not in view.


Did i tell you you i’m lost without you?

With backs as broad
as upturned sailing
boats on meadow-grass
the cows look up
from udderneath
the wind and watch it
hurry passed...