a stir of wings,
engines competing for air,
you are there but not,
a difference of perspective,
of machine, oil and steel
encasing wool and skin,
a mind reliving something,
running then returning,
raising a dial higher, lower,
trying to find a frequency
that takes into its thrum
nothing, no one.

We walked
out into town,
red bricks merged into
brown green blurs of leaves,
hedges, trees moving with ease
as chatter that was
there before
fell silent.
now just one voice
at the fore,
above floods of rain, words forcing
their way, a heavy
ricochet back & forth
nearly sending you off
course & you
remember
how easy it was before,
when every word
was not ignored but
knocked you to
the floor, but as
words pour you hold,
watch every element
& substance, slower
now, as if your flesh
could stop it all,
as if it could raise the dead
if that deeper voice
stood up and said.

You pray for the
voice not to break,
for composure
even though the
pristine walls are
crumbling,
and you see
through facades
into broken hearts,
see sunny days fading
away into war,
into a torn city,
a story  
you don’t
see but drift
towards like a
current meeting  
a person you never
knew but are close
to through blood,
skin, through the
wish to start again.

The fire in
you has dulled,
look for a cause
and there it is
bullet wound
where
world has
gotten in.
it’s sin and stain
and pain.
there’s no
medicament
to take
you must wait, feel it’s
searing
heat and bitter cold,
it’s love and
anger,
young and old.
When it finally goes,
seal skin,
take care
not to let its
madness back in.

Our marks
are made over
years,
          in earth,
scattered seed
for birds,
their hunger fed
          but never
sated, they
wander as lost as
this rain running
down walls
        trying to get
back to  
source, and if we
found it would it
call us,
a wilderness
of thoughts,
          syllables
that tell us who
we are,
and yet there
are clues they are
lost too, a
         stutter, a
loss of air, a
shrinking
of places it is
safe to be, to
breathe,
to really see.

You never stopped
to think, you
thought you did
but it was a trick,
just genes and blood
kept you here
in this groove,
under this sky,
until it died.
We are in deep,
carved in bark,
running through history,
an anonymous story
with no one left to tell.
One day some may
find a way out, a
path that’s clear
that can bridge a
gap across skin
and stars, finally
tell us who we are.

It came in with a
stir and a spark
a flame
so close we were
forced to give
it a name, to
say it ten times
a day but
it didn’t stay
faded away
into dust,
remembered
now only in
books, replaced
by another fire
that burns harder
and higher.
We crouch, cuddle,
feed it’s form with
wood, bits of branch
and blood, then
watch it consume us.

Beneath these
steady eyes
is a
tsunami
biding it’s time
like water
collecting
against a dam
it seeks a town,
host to roam,
something to destroy
and own.
You sense it’s unsettled
stirring but place
it out of
reach, choose to
work, shop
drive, dream
but
dampness
remains in air,
in gaps between
words, in car parks when
engines are turned off.

today you
pray that the air
will hold
your weight,
that with
every step
the fear will
dissipate &
you will
be as ubiquitous
as sky, just another
passer by
who can force the
head & heart
to mend & for
a time pretend.

that list of things to do
hangs like a view filled
with heavy grey clouds  

you watch & wait for
the bird that will make
the first tear that will crack

open the light with its flight
& flood the gloom, restart a
body, factory, city, awaken

it from its misery & allow it to
see what could be

the mouths
move in a
synchronised
troop but
nobody is
moved
because
nobody
speaks.
it has always
been
this way
the same
play performed
day after day
& night
after night
to a room
in the dark
that can't
find the light.

some pains
carry a weight
so great that
they rake up
the land, wear
it down
like a war & if
your bones
could speak they
would creak like
a dog left out
in the cold,  
howling into
the wind
whilst everyone
else too
burdened
by their
own minds
doesn't hear the
cries, they are
a sound
in the background,
a white noise
we've learned to
avoid.

i have
locked myself
into a cocoon.
a shell, a
crescent moon.
wind
is battering
against the
walls, shelling
seeds into husks.
the day feels
long and this
song will
have to wait
until the sun
comes. till it
enters the
cracks
in wood
and skin and
allows me
to imagine
again how it feels
to be human.

you let
the pills
flow
down
your neck
and wait.
wait for the life
to grow
and the
pain to
slow.
wait for
that feeling
when you
will know.
but certainty
is a story.
a distant
object
bobbing
across
the current.
and that
comfort
becomes an
absence
so deep it
resounds
like cymbals
in your
ears as you
sleep.

you are lost,
     as lost as the next in line
at the store.
you are trapped
      in thoughts of war, and
environmental horrors
that are to befall us all.
you want to run
       to the edge of the field,
and peel the skin from
the base of your heel & peer in,
to find the glitch,
     because something is amiss.
the arguments don't resolve,
they become a hum
   that course down walls
like rain. some of us pray,
turn to religion,
   others look to games &
science fiction, all to drown out
the thought that
  the balance of good and evil has
swung & we're
     not quite sure which side we're on.

as a girl it didn't
occur
         that blossom
would fade
from pink cotton to
damp,
brown mulch,
to a congealed lump
my mother would
    painstakingly pull from
  full pockets at the
end of the day.
  its bloom consumed
by rain,
  and left to decay,  
its perfume a memory
that filled the air,
that with
   time you start to
        doubt was even there.

Seal them
Within an
Envelope &
Post to
somewhere
Remote,
then let the
Moss grow,
The fall leaves
Pour and the
Winter winds
Roar, and when
It’s safe
go & find
That space,
Go where
The sea is
Cold and
Revisit the
Old, the things
You told
Yourself where
Too hard and
Too dark,
That left an
Indelible
Mark within
The heart.
Open and
Expose like
A lost film,
A reel that
Reveals and
Finally heals.

this head
is a blur to
you, an opaque,
one way mirror
reflecting back
your own figure.
so don't try to
guess, or project
how i might
think or feel,
i am a closed
book, and unless
i open up, there's
a cavern that
exists,
a wide endless
pit, a sea, a land,
a piece of sky,
a world growing
beneath hazel
green eyes.

bang against
the glass and break,
sun against skin
porous thin,
window pane.
we begin the same
no name, no shackled
weight, no net we
seek to escape,
each word yet
unlearnt hangs
unheard
in some unknown
air, waiting to be
plucked fresh
from the vine
imbibed like wine,
into a part of
the heart that learns
the word 'pain'
too often to remain
the same.

it opens
like a wound
a torrent of
flumes and
the worries
subsume.
the day has
broken
with a thud
& every thing
we are, were, was,
momentarily
stops.
a
system as
tightly
bound as
ballet shoes
loosens
and we
become
the mist.
and when it sighs
a part of us dies,
the world's
engine ignites,
and those
familiar cogs begin
to grind
inside the
mind.

i found the
path and
wound
around
and the weight
that fixed
me, that
buried me
in its territory
felt less heavy,
but there really
is no
heavens door
i see no opening
to the place i
called before
just trees
and cars,
flaws on
top of flaws,
flowers in the
crevices of the
walls,
an order in
the chaos of
it all.

i'm trying to
rewind,
to start anew,
but every
word i use
is tied to a
particular
time, and i'm
stuck in that
line of history,
a never ending
story,  even
with a different pen,
crossing it out
and starting
again, i can't just
leave, maybe the
epiphany is that
we're always here,
that we grow up
in the same soil,
means we all
share in the
toil, that we create
it after all.

prize open
the core and its
crisp and the
blood is rich
and you remember,
and sew yourself
back together.

sometimes you
forget that your
real, that you come
alive at the seams,

that your lungs
spread themselves
out like wings,
and take in the
wind that cradles
your frame as
you sit under
the tree in the
dancing rain,
reminding yourself
that you have a
name.

the one you used to
say, the one that you
have started to
hear yourself now
say. The one you
hoped and prayed
would come and
wipe away the
rot you had become,
you know it’s
fading from view,
that day you knew
is hazy now, more
dream than real,
more someone
else eating a
delicious meal
while you
stand in the rain
watching through
the pain, a life
you’ll never claim.

our
hearts in boxes
sealed shut to
keep out the
cold and dust,
to keep the stars at
bay we bolstered the
ports, pinned
ourselves in,
in the low valleys
of the hills, shielded
ourselves from the
glint of seeing
for miles, the universe &
the skies, everything we
are so clear & wise,
we fed ourselves lies
with newspapers,
our skin turned
wrinkled,
crinkled, the
ink stained our
teeth when we began
to speak.

we think we love,
think we
stand upon
sturdy stuff,
think the rolling
seas don't come
for us,
we're young,
we're never
gonna grow
up, the tombstones
roll in hills the
world over,
but we kid ourselves
in our beds,
in our heads,
we curl back the
skies,
shift the covers,
shut our eyes,
ignore the cries.

there was a
dream here
once,
it came in
        via the
rain,
fed crops,
     livestock, us,
but at dawn it
had gone,
    taken the
bus to
somewhere
it could belong,
somewhere
         made of
sturdier stuff.
I imagine
     it rolling itself
up into
             the dust,
         coating the
backs of tongues,
speaking a
        language so
different to my
own, I imagine
it finally feels
like home.

we didn't
know we wrote
          our names
   into snow,
scrolled
our
         soul into
soil,
our toil invisible
on
         maps but
held
as heavy as
breath
         in cold air,
our love, death
birth, despair
        who we
were written
indelibly
into this
               earth

I remember
        the rain, the
way it
       fell in
waves I
             tried to
cling to, press my
           lips into
its deep blue
as if that
           might make
things new but it
went on
           undisturbed
in
its path
towards Earth,
           a mystery
concealed
inside
         every drop
that
I was powerless
       to stop.

there's a boat
     moored on
an
empty shore,
too
                old to
be
cared for
              like these
bones
             bought &
sold many
              times
before,
worked
into a fine grind,
a pestel
                & mortar
kind where
souls
          are traded
for
pennies
over time, halved
now
              like a lime,
stripped of
what made
them
                      shine.

there were tears,
many, they
flowed regularly
from
porcelain bowls
down drains
I'd hoped
would separate
the pain, cleanse
them, make them
water again,
free to roam
amongst
their own in salt
lake streams, banks
bursting at
the seams with
ripe green,
so different to here
where all they've
ever known was
fear, housed behind
eyes, between ears,
counting each
shallow breath
like they were
anticipating
their death.

there was a
          house we
didn't visit,
no detail
           beyond
four walls
           & a door,
we looked for
a map
       but were
forced to
         resort to
our own
      crevices
& pores,
      subconscious
grid works
              so dimly
lit we vowed to
         clear the
mist,
keep on riding
           through its
endless
abyss.

reflectively i
      opened &
closed
                regularly,
i was
petals blushed
        in the
height of
summer & a
           frostbitten
bud
in the throes of
winter, except this
                year
   the sky not
grey brought
a heat everyone
              could feel 
except me,
i waited
for an
          opening that
didn't come,
                  a flower
refusing to yield
to sun,
                limbs
staying firmly
crossed, lost in a
place where
             nothing
warm survives
for long.

as a child the
woods
at dusk seemed
to have a way of
snaking
past five, six,
seven, eight
o'clock
    & despite
the stomachs hollow
ache we stayed
   safe inside
barbed
wire & wet moss
filled with
     days old raindrops
but every
good thing stops,  
it happened
      slowly,
the world coaxed
me, I turned
        round &
noticed the
stirrings
     of a town, your
hair
yellow as husks
     against a
wall of
slate & rocks
slipped

out of

focus.

there are
names we
do not say,  
they form
pockets,
places the
rain has to
move to
get around.
a note that
when struck
is as
resonant
as the wolf,
whose howl
breaks the
sea, carves
the name
through
you & me.

they say it
disappeared
years ago,
replaced
by steel, brick,
black tar roads
& yet
adrenaline still
flows
beneath the
surface of skin,
prey prepares
for a war it cannot
win &
I can't decide
if it was harder
then or now,
if the girl
fixing her hair
in the mirror
is a predator
or friend I'd
invite to
dinner.

I can fix the
time & place,
narrow it
down to a
precise date
& I could accept
a replica, but
this was remote, a
pulse is
found & yet
a glitch betrays it;
a memory of a
house, a record
playing on
repeat, a young girl
dancing at the
top of a street.

A tv on mute
     while anger
forms over
another dispute,
          one more
thing to discuss,
     another coat
to wear despite
         the red hot
  sun & what's
the cost,
somewhere
       remote a
skeleton is
pining for a
hide
while we draw
borders along
arbitrary lines
& a world is
  carved up into
yours & mine,
a territory of
land, sea,
portion of sky,
an enemy
lurking as
         wolves
outside,
I go to look
           but no,
soon though.

I was born with
an armour or
so I thought,
a shield against
the incoming
storm, but
the veneer
wore thin
& over time
the sea crept in,
now there
is no blank state
when I wake,
a dark sky
occupies my
mind that
I taste on my
lips, wars,
taxes, too many
deaths.

I wish my
lips could
be sewn
shut with
a blood red
needle &
thread,
a visible
display
of how I
feel on my
worst of days
when I
want to
lock myself
away,
when words
are strangers
exchanging
kisses across
lips & hearts
are graveyards
burying
broken
promises.

We don't 
speak
& so our
unspoken
words
retreat,
hanging
in the
air like
dying birds
whose weak
cries go
unheard all
because we
were too
afraid to
share, to stare
into the
abyss within,
let its icy
depths swim
up our necks
& do as those
around us do;
speak, one
syllable first
then another,
hoping they
can handle our
verbs the
way we have
theirs

She
didn't cry
& yet
I was wet,
water
teased from
evaporated
steam
stirring in
deep wells
of stoic
eyes
dreaming
of a
sunrise,
just one day
she thinks
when she
will not wake
with the salt
of the sea
lapping
against
her lids.

Determined
          to leave
she gathered
up her
things, keys
& a coat, a
quick note
    explaining
why she had
          to go,
but the 
finality of the
scene gave
       the bleak
view a
different hue,
         the sun
through
glass shone
brighter, the
               sky
appeared
several
        shades
lighter, the
once
      silent
      meadows
called out in
       unison
to be walked
           upon,
the
    flowers
whispered
   to her to
        hold on.

With a
thin sheet
of skin we cover
each limb,
bury
the heart
beneath flesh
& hope for
the best,
but the cracks
still come, air finding
its way in via
eardrums,
lungs, 
then finally
a soul & you know
when you see
them, more
paper
than
people, you
look in their eyes
& don't see hopes
& dreams but
city streets,
industrial
skylines,
no sign of sun
coming over the
horizon.

I exist in a
modern
       fortress
of houses &
    cars, stores
around the
corner to buy
      anything
I want &
       the sea
& dark trees
remain
mysteries,
   peripheral
things only
    experienced
in
           dreams
passing
     ships that
sail in to
erase names
& obligations,
      stretch weak
             lungs to
breaking,
reprogramming
genes to flee, 
to tease out the 
         wild seed
    from my
ancestors tree
& in the absence
of jungle
     ignite a fire
from
bits of wire,
     from you
& me
& our ancient
      heartbeat

There is a world
beyond the
one
seen on
television screens,
outside the realm
of suicides &
wall to wall 
crimes
where
flocks of
birds are migrating
South in search
of sun &
deer run
across forests
not yet discovered
by anyone  
& though I may
not see it daily it is
this distant world
that saves
me.

Ahead of
     this present
moment is a
void, no
        name, no
detail
beyond what
our
imaginations
    can impose, its
    bedrock not
made
of stone but
       sand, if it
were a
wood we would
           warn
children to
   avoid it, yet we
follow its fire, it's
        flames reaching
higher
     & higher,
        seducing us with
their power,
       all the things
that might be,
         glittering
then
  disappearing

Overnight
    a storm
has moved
 into this city,
phone wires
      dangle
precariously,
houses are
defenceless
     against
sea, held
together with
bits of wood
& string like
our fragile
bodies,
covered only
by a thin
layer of skin,
        pushed
to survive by
forces outside,
to reconnect
       with the
wild, not
       found in
books but
hearts, bones,
blood,
  biological
   instincts we
once
  understood.