All my vim is leaking,
Dripping slowly out.
Salted vitality,
Etching streaks of drought.
Leaving me barren,
Deficient of birr,
In need of my ardor,
With nothing but blur.

My head has separated from my body,
Rolling on the ground,
Getting kicked around.
My thoughts turning and churning,
Losing their place,
Losing perspective,
Losing their sense.
The world is twisting and warping,
Losing its purpose,
Losing proportion,
Losing its whence.

In the street I am,
Walking, walking,
Looking, looking,
Around.

Picking up sounds.
Rush, sooty, loud.
Forming a cloud,
Vibrating the ground.

And when time no longer meets,
Then the roar of the streets,
Drowns all kinds of beats.

I’m plunging into the depths of my soul,
To find something made out of coal,
So my candle's flame would finally ignite,
And the streets' lamps could find the light.

In the street,
I am, looking, looking,
Walking, walking,
Around.

I know, know, what that means, I know.
I'm watching every flash of ambiguity grow.
I'm hearing whispers of happiness go.

The light is dim,
The shadows dark,
The faces blurred,
The voices bark.

I'm watching, watching,
People in the street, passing,
By me, with familiar faces, walking, walking.

I'm meeting with the pleasure of injustice on their face,
And bits of pleasure are lost with every pace.
I see thoughts of all types,
Fears, angers, hopes and doubts.

The light gets brighter,
The shadows grow long.
I want to know,
I want to know,
Where does the pleasure go?
Where the thoughts I see around are born?
And what, what, what have they borne?

Their hearts crippled and lame,
Spewing hatred and blame,
You will surely be ashamed,
Of what became of them.

I wonder if ever they were stronger for love,
But all that’s remained now, is one wounded dove.
On the side of the freeway, covered in soot,
Many have come and gone, not one of them put
The dove in a shelter, a harbour, a port.

I’m daydreaming,
I'm wondering,
Mumbling a prayer,
From the blackness of their despair
I can see their strength is bare.

I find it sourly funny,
But bitterly sad.
The faces are dark and barking and mad.
Wearing a sorrow and weariness clad.

Harmony? Maybe, a certain kind,
But it is teeming with wildlife on every side.

I have words countless,
Yet none that I can say.
I have thoughts abundant,
Though all in disarray.
Ideas I have some,
I keep them in my head.
Dreams I have enough,
I leave them in my bed.
I carry on moving,
Dropping as I do,
Little crumbs of abstracts,
In the light of moon.

I had a word, word, word
That once I heard, heard, heard.
The word was nice, nice, nice,
I've used it twice, twice, twice.
But then it broke,
Went up in smoke.
And I was left,
With just a cleft.
The word's now gone,
And I'm alone,
Alone, lone, lone.

I'm up,
Just in case.
I do,
Just in case.
I grind,
Just in case.
I collect,
Just in case.
One day,
Two days,
Three,
Just in case.
I store,
Just in case.
Four days,
Five days,
Six,
Just in case.
In case I'm guiltless.
In case I'm chaste.
I'm collecting mine days,
Just in case.

A snowball inside, with no snow,
Just layers of guilt and nausea below.
Layers, wrapped, one on top of the rest.
Layers of nausea and guilt, stressed, pressed, wrest.
And the ball is rolling around inside,
Picking up more nausea and guilt on its ride.
Getting bigger, getting fat.
Blocking my airways, leaving me flat,
On my back with nothing but dry, hollowed cry.
Salt burning my flared eyes.
I'm sitting inside,
The snowlessball, heavy, wide.
I can't see past it, I can't see behind.
I'm looking straight, directly at it and try, I try, I try to cry.
To drown it, diffuse it, dissipate.
It doesn't. It sits there, full of hate.
Hate and nausea and guilt,
Layered, patched like a quilt,
Waiting for ME to quit.
Me and the ball, in the middle of things,
Between us a chess board with no kings.
Only queens, inside my skin,
And all queens can fall, and all queens can win.
I have the black ones and he has my sins.
Spread on the board my sins and my queens,
Between me and my guilt on a mid summer's nightmare.

I feel my petals drop,
Slowly on the ground.
Leaving voids, emptiness.
Leaving me undone.
Bare.
Barren.
Unsound.

When memory is wrong.
When morality is dusty.
When time is long.
When hope is rusty.
When dignity is pliable.
When dreams are after dark.
When faith is liable.
When life is full of marc.
Old.

Black and white tomb.
Anamorphic face.
Indistinct frame.
Abandoned my womb.
Quit without a trace.
Leaving me in shame

I'm repeating myself.
I'm redundant.
I'm duplicated.
Duplicated,
Duplicated,
Abundant.
I echo, echo my words.
I wander, wander the wards,
With the white walls
And the white coats,
With the sterile air,
And the silent wants.
Bars in my mind,
I'm confined,
Resigned,
Re-assigned,
Re-defined,
Re-designed.
I'm repeating myself,
Repeating,
Peating,
Eating.
I'm redundant,
Abundant,
Pungent.

In my head,

Two pixies,

With tiny hammers,

Thrashing, smashing, crushing,

Stones.

Behind my eyes.

Mauling, bruising, punishing,

Bones.

Honing, forging a new wry,

Spoor.

A new ****,

To drip my thoughts,

To flood my mind,

To gouge a moor.

The end of the world,
Just there.
Past the trees,
Beyond the where.
The brink of all,
A hop, jump and skip.
White nothingness,
A long endless strip.
Mere three steps,
Me, bleak strides, a rime.
The edge of being,
The brim of time.
The end of the world,
Just there.
And I am here,
So near to dare.

I have a rime.
Under my skin.
I have a rhyme
I feel it in
side my follicles.
I feel the icicles.

Soundless, voiceless howl.
Untouching, unstirring, unfound.
Smashing the air inside my lungs,
Catapulting dying oxygen crumbs.
Performing the gasping melody chime.
Drowning me in a pond of brine.

I am the clock.
Spinning,
Wrapped around an axle.
Hands twisted over my head,
Bent sideways,
Minutes,
Hours.
No seconds.
No time for seconds.
Hours pass in minutes.
Minutes pass in seconds.
No time for seconds.
I am the clock.
Days pass in a whirl.
Hazy, dazy, blured.
Sunrise as sunset, as sunrise,
No dawn.
No morning, no noon, no dusk.
Just sleep, stagnation and dust.
On the eyelids,
Skin,
Mouth.
Into the lungs.
Stifling my breathing,
Contaminating my blood.
Dust.
A thin layer,
Inside,
Outside,
Around,
All around.

Cling, cling, cling.
Flop, flop, flop.
Ding, ding, ding.
Drop, drop, drop.
The screen blinks,
My brain drivels.
The colours *****,
My cells shrivel.
Cling, cling, cling.
Drop, drop, drop.
Why can't I stop, stop, stop.

Cracked, parched, bare,
I am lying on the ground.
My skin,
Cracked, parched, bare,
Crumbling, skinny dust,
Depressing the air.
My blood trickling out,
Hydrating the flakes.
Red tulips will grow,
Between my dusty bones.

Condensed part II

Condense the want in drops of fault,
Mix with water and some salt.
Stir to make the want eruptive,
Fold yourself and lie adductive.

Air in a box for that day,
To gale,
To inhale,
To breathe.
Time in a box for that day,
To use,
To muse,
To need.
Calm in a box for that day,
To flow,
To know,
To touch.
Love in a box for that day,
To trace,
To taste,
To match.
One empty box for that day,
For the wilt,
The guilt,
The blame.
One empty box for that day,
For the pains
The chains,
The shame.

Dry, cracked, fractured.
Broken, barren, fissured.
Raptured, sliced, split.
Rifted, carved, slit.
Cut, torn, weathered.
Slashed, hacked, severed.
Chopped, gashed, ripped.
Gouged, lanced, clipped.

First I was born,
Then I was cut,
Into pieces, parts.
Separated, branded,
Marked.
White, female, Jewish – stamped.
And so, I'm stuck,
In this, existence
With these pieces,
With these stamps.
Even if I vary,
It will never be throughout.
I can never scrub it off,
The mark.
There would always be a trace,
Of before,
Piece,
And stamp.

Erasing my days.
My minutes,
My seconds,
My hours,
Erased.
Then,
Recycling my new, empty days.

To be Kate,
To seem normal, happy, unbothered.
To be Kate,
Unweighed, hinged, togathered.
To be Kate,
To sound quiet, blessed, sound.
To be Kate,
For just one round.
Around the wall,
Around the lawn,
Around the guard.
Than where it's scattered,
Unhinged,
Where it's barred.
To be Kate is really, really hard.

In the corner of the room,
On the middle of the table,
In the depth of the dish,
On the edge of the spoon.
I am looking at it.
Nausea.
I am staring,
Into the pit.

Runny days,

Fluid minutes,

Molten time.

Down my fingers,

Through my toes,

Into the ground.

A thousand flavours on my tongue.
Bitter, sweet, bland and tang.
One million degrees of hot.
One persistent taste of fraught.
The sharp sting of pain and blame.
The aftertaste of guilt and shame.
The taste of blood,
The taste of death.
Of annihilation,
Of one last breath.
A taste of anguish, of despair.
A taste of horror, smothered air.
A flavoured terror, a maddened stare,
Underneath a ruthless snare.

Picture, picture, picture,
Vision, vision, one,
Two, three, hundred,
Chasing me with a gun.
Visions, hundreds, chasing,
My mind is a Zoetrope.
I'm losing my mind, is losing me,
No mind, a kaleidoscope.

Nothing was said and nothing was done,
I was in bed but I still heard the gun.
Go off in the distance, a shot in the dark,
And a lifeless body falls in the park.
A red stain of blood like some kind of mark,
And all the witnesses are covered with bark.
The park was empty, as now was the gun.
And the lifeless body was all said and done.

Stirring the brew,
Breathing the fog,
Cooking tomorrow,
With a great deal of slog.
Boiling and poaching
A raw, shellless existence.
Percolating my prospects,
With erratic persistence.

Picture one,
Smile.
Picture two,
Dimple.
Picture three,
Twinkle.
Picture four,
Shy.
Picture five,
Coy.
Picture six,
Flirty.
Picture ten,
Words.
Fifteen,
Walking.
Twenty one,
Lips.
Thirty three,
Hand.
Picture forty,
Nearly.
Forty two,
Ah.

My head is spinning round and round.
I lost my rubber, rubber band.
It's white.
It's small.
Was here right
Now! It's gone,
And with it my phone
Is not tied neatly,
And with it my mind,
Is not together completely.
However will I keep my sanity at hand,
Without my rubber, rubber band!

Every day of my life is passing by.
Every day, short of one breath,
One breath, holding all the air,  
Away from me,
Turning me blue.
Every day of my life is passing by.
Every day, short of one taste,
One taste, holding all the flavour,  
Away from me,
Turning me stale.
Every day of my life is passing by.
Every day, short of one ray,
One ray, holding all the light,
Away from me,
Turning me dark.
Every day of my life is passing by.
Every day, short of one tomorrow,
One tomorrow, holding all the rest.  
Every day of my life is holding one tomorrow.

Ants are crawling on my inside skin.
Irritating,
Tiny,
Puny,
Steps.
Crawling, crawling,
Step,
Step,
Step.
Minute, echoing.
Resounding all the way across,
To the outside of my skin.
Making me squirm and fidget and flip.
Ants are marching on my internal membrane,
And I can't sleep.

The middle of the night is gone,
No longer around,
No longer surround,
Just some fragments lingering pre dawn.
Around me, surrounding me.
Lightless, brightless darkness.
And I'm here, restless, sleepless,
Really need to wee.

Lines,
Green, blue, red, white.
Keeping in,
Leaving out.
Confining and taut,
Rigid and wrought.
Keeping me in,
Leaving me out,
On the border,
Over the edge,
Hanging,
Alongside doubt.
Flapping in the breeze,
Dangling in the air,
Oxidising,
Splitting hair.
Over the edge,
Over the bluff,
Harsh, coarse, rough.
Barren and crumbly,
Numbly,
Numbly,
Numbly.

Morning,
Almost,
A night's shadow is still here.
Refusing to leave,
Holding on,
Clinging to air.
And the morning can not start,
Eyes are still shut.
Until the shadow lets go,
Morning will not show,
Us, today,
Nor one ray,
Of sun will we know.

No eat,
No wholesome,
No quench,
No sip.
No night,
No day,
No stir,
No sleep.
No green,
No rainbow,
No flower,
No trees.
No sweet,
No lovely,
No warm,
No breeze.
No home,
No rest,
No place,
No port.
No shield,
No cover,
No guard,
No fort.
No soft,
No ease.
No air,
No space.
No kids,
No line,
No kind,
No race.

In a deep deep well,
Where I dwell, dwell, dwell,
I can smell, smell, smell,
All the stale, stale, stale,
Souls.
And I hear, hear, hear,
Bells are near, near, near,
And it's clear, clear, clear,
Death is here, here, here,
In the walls.
Then I know, know, know,
Fear will grow, grow, grow,
Hearts will slow, slow, slow,
Life will flow, flow, flow,
Down the halls.
And at last, last, last,
Low the mast, mast, mast,
Trumpet blast, blast, blast,
Life has past, past, past,
To the falls.

I want to not be my current self.
I want to be someone else, someone else.
I'm under the mountain, still and again.
I'm under the mountain, a mountain of pain.
And the mountain is heavy, more than before.
I'm unmovable, unbreathable, unhopeable and more.
I'm paralysed, just can't seem to break free.
From under the mountain of guilt, pain and trees.
Trees with leaves of shame and regret.
With a bark of melancholy, I'm sleeping to forget.
I'm sleeping to forget that I am myself.
And in my sleep, I'm someone else, someone else.

Seeds of sadness,
Planted,
In my ground.
Buds of sorrow,
Sprouted,
In the sand.
Shoots of dysphoria,
Covering,
The land.
Trees of depression,
Growing,
Where I stand.
In the middle of the land,
Sinking in the sand,
Disappearing in the ground.
Bare trees,
Are left,
Unsound.

Unlocked,
My head unbuckled,
My arms spread.
My mind unshackled,
My heart prepared.
Unlocked,
Head to toe,
Unfastened,
Untied,
Undwelt.
Thoroughly unhitched,
Save one chastity belt.

The hand on time,
Is not, not mine.
Moving the dial,
Not moving the dial,
Not moving the dial.
So I stay,
Rotating round and round,
Into the ground, into the ground.
I'm planted, no roots, no bark,
Half buried, half alive.

A frozen soldier,
A silent guard.
White faced,
Barking, mad.
A voiceless witness,
With ****** roots.
Recalls,
Relives,
Reminds,
The boots,
That crushed,
That hushed,
Last grasp,
Last cry,
Last gasp.

One tile, Square and white,
Repetitive, blank and slight.
Reflecting me, not right quite.
One tile, cemented tight,
Surrounding tiles, left and right,
Reflecting me, just in spite.
One tile, by the bight,
Early morning, late, late night,
Reflecting back, a sore, sore sight.
One tile.
Square and white.

Inside out,

Soft and pink,

Raw and clawed.

Inside out,

Skinned and scratched,

Scarred and flawed.

White pudding curving over the edge.
Soft and wobbly, flabby, flaccid.
Nearly, soonly, dripping, drooping, spilling out.
Trickling down the thigh, onto the floor, into the grooves, saturating fat.
So, a blank screen,
An empty puddle,
A knife.
Just to check the teeth, the hair, the eyes.

In,
And out of,
Myself.
I go,
In and out.
Pouring out and
Crawling in.
Spilling out and
Climbing in.
Spewing out and
Trampling in.
My knees are bruised,
My shoulders slumped,
My head is dizzy,
My thoughts are stumped.
My body is a sieve.
In and out.
In and out.
In and out.
I skive,
One slice,
A layer,
A layer.
Spreading a carpet of myself, flat.
Now all over, I'm the same height,
Much easier to go in and out.

Fruitless

Memory made of a thousand pieces,
Making faces,
Making places.
Shattering and gathering,
Gathering and Shattering.
Scattering, spattering, muttering
To ourselves.
A memory,
A face,
A place.
A pace, a pace, a pace.
Away from the dead,
Away from the grave,
The cave, the wave
Of pain, of outrage, of rave.
My memory I lost,
Leaving a stain,
From bodies slain,
Insane.
Gathering pieces,
In vain.

A salt lake in my eyes,
Right behind the lids.
Two briny pools,
Corroding my mids.
Rusting my soul,
Oxidising my veins.
Two briny pools,
Over flowing my pains.