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.

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.

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.

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.

It's a reference
point, one where
people fall in love,
get married, have
children of their
own, a cycle so
known it's as if
its seed has been
sewn into our
souls, a seed that
is reluctantly teased
in me like a fly in the
background that 
inches further away;
small leaps at first
then bigger over  
streets, cities, countries, 
I shout to it but no

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 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.

My      demons  
   have     grown  
plump  over  
  these    long  
winter   months,  
  feasting  off    
cold      blood  
making    me  
crave     the  
warm   spring  
sun,     green   
meadows   of  
small   yellow     
buds     peaking 
  above    Earth;  
any     small    
    sign     of  
rebirth   in  me  
&    also   
      out      there

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.