words can sear and brand
leaving scars
the shape of bad memories

the marks are read each day
scrutinized in the hope
they've been misread

a spelling mistake
the wrong pronoun
anything different to what was said

I miss your parti-coloured waters mixing it up
and tumbling through the fruit bearing gorge,
a force to be reckoned with

and reckon with you they did.

You've middle-aged spread into a behaved oversized pond,
your energy channelled to serve others,
mannered and within bounds.

When did I become my mother?
I didn't see her coming.
I just stopped short one day after delivering
a dose of contempt and derision
and there she was
hovering in the corners of my mouth
keeping the world at bay.

I'll lie here a little longer
let the waves lap my legs
the water run over my hips and hug my shoulders.

In a while I'll lift my head and look around.
I'll see where I am
get my bearings.
In a while.

I'm beached
I'm resting
I'm tired
I'm sore
I'm shaky from a rough storm

Now I'm anchored on the wet sand.
In a moment I'll push myself up with my hands.
When I'm ready.

You sank into the chair, eyes red,
misery leaking from every pore,
boxed in, nowhere to go, dying inside ...
this is the price of another's cruel love.
It demands, not deserves,
eats, not eases,
relentless in its appetite

and still it is love ...

lodged in my attention span like
a noisy commercial, I was sold affection
with no guarantee of love

lying in my bed as if you didn't fit it
the sheets seemed to hover uncertainly
over your bullet body and baby bird kisses

unbalanced by uneven understanding
we straggle along a wet sandy *****
in the distance nothing gets closer

Is it your choice you're dying?
Maybe the element securing your life force is sick and tainted
Maybe the cat ***'s ammonia overwhelms you
Or maybe the gods that send you food and water have abandoned you.

Do you feel abandoned?
Left to struggle in a plastic-bounded island?
Outside you'd have natural light rain dew mist
Inside you're at the mercy of human forgetfulness
                                                 human ignorance
                                                 human casualness
a casualty of casualness.

In the end, dying isn't a choice for you.
Just do your best.

Ordinarily I would
dance for joy.  This time I'll
etch joy in words.

squinting in the glare of the sun
avoiding the krill lined beach -
a crunchy layer of red skeletons
I paddled in the harbour
the salt water licking the burn on my leg
kissed that morning
by the exhaust pipe of your toppled Honda

the burn shrank to a memory
buried with the bones of your life