i will collect you in my arms
all of you

as you wish
from the merest shadow you may call me

i will leave through
the sound of a coin
on a marble step

as if pebbles underfoot
the sky sings a coarse lullaby

we sit
stubborn and thick
in the clenched pipe of time
unable to pass us

it seems strange, now,
thorns have cleared a path for us;
clouds bulge
in dark promise

oh, the envious hymnal breeze!
how it wrings its wrists
in heavy handed disbelief

a cathedral of trees
holds you and me between earth
and spangled evening

our geometries slowly converge

the unknown looks away in fear
as the pulp of our understanding
sweetens the ink of our verse
intertwined

from broken shells the bird steps
from her beak night screams
missiles of ancient light

weave the moon

starlight

like ancient thread,

looms thoughts

in vaults behind my eyes


each night,

the first thing my pillow whispers

is you

days of restoration, making.

gathering , stacking found
books, some to tie, to read
later.

it is a curious thing, the cotton,
the string. there are films
and recollections for work.

if i say there is nothing
to understand, will you
understand this statement?



there is another ceasefire.

sbm.

sits prettily, the starched mat
is frayed a little now.

it was an evening of festivities over
poetry, regarding god, diana, the queen
of hearts. catch phrase, a moderate game,
played better standing close, somehow.

the books were cheap, stock  sale in the library,
he left his life to live

in alaska. chapter two

sbm.

let me curl up
inside your heart, your ears

so i may always
hear the sea

make bombs with razor bits
to explode and cut people up.

to ****, and dismember, some
one picks the bits up, to carry
home in a bag.

child.

two thousand and fourteen.

it is raining today.

sbm.