I emerged from the thicket with leaves in my hands.
They were the colour of dead grass and lions
And crumbled softly.
There was the view from the dreamlands
That I had sown in my mind’s eye,
Threading dull needles.
The cycles of breathing and focus breezed past -
The weightlessness didn’t hurry me
after each eternal second.
The safe place was untouched by the dreary forecast
Just as I had left it. The untidy nest
Of hushed thoughts
Invited my aching self into the comforts of a home
I could never find elsewhere –
Out there.

The best thing was the bed – clouds of foam
Framed by shadow and paced by birdsong.
The décor was unclear
But somewhere near, I heard the spell of a flute
Reeling me from the promise of sleep,
Matching my sigh,
And soon enough, you had left your boots
And your silhouette by the door,
Keeping away the storm.

It is only seconds after you leave that I hear the bells ring
Calling me back to the duff path,
Through the undergrowth.
Another day of feeling the rot of mundane living
As I now settle in the soil and wait for the leaves
To grow.

It all feels so unreal
The barrage and war is still the same, old ***** conflict.
And in this quiet moment
All I hear is the empty city and the ringing of my ear -
Nothing more. Release, reform, repose.
I started the new year in a cloud above you all
The gall.
But still fits inside the mould
I can never escape.

  I dreamt I was a king
  And all the little things
  Were condensed in two
  Finding me and finding you
  Amidst it all, three furry clues
  Saw me sinking into the blues.

They tore my limbs down
With those wicked metal teeth
The horror of the amputation’s aftermath hasn’t settled in
The cold keeps me numb, they shaved me to the ground
There go my little dancing curls, goodbye.

I hope this is my time; that I’ll die
I don’t want to know how I’ll turn out
Without those chunks stolen, pieces I grew out
So lovingly, so tenderly,
Now mangled haphazardly into grotesque copies
How will I touch them now, my friends the magpies.

I cannot scream, I cannot cry
My blood will dry
Out
They keep me alive
For what? Their view?
Do they imagine what I go through?
In
But I cannot feel, I’m not alive
Dreams of rat-kings congeal below
They killed us all long ago.

I guess it speaks of the love I had
That in those small, tired, sorry moments
I think of what we shared
And I place myself in your arms again.

In that hazy bliss
I imagine other timelines where we would still be together
Hand in hand
Living and loving
And then the moment is gone

Turning that new leaf
        over and over
    like wrinkled paper – so soft

Are those eggs in its underwing?
  Minuscule, little dreaming larvae
sunlight spears you
What do you do when it hits the bottom?
        face   up
  A platter for ***** beaks

They wake up and eat
   hiding and eating, growing

  until you miss that leaf so much
        your organs melt
   writhing goops of self
     you make your own

Later, you’ll turn
  briefly
     but so spectacularly
Your little dreams will find their deaths
    unnoticed little sleeps
while the leaves turn still

Doesn't it call, so sweetly,
The promise of eternal sleep
of mindless silence
of distant grief
It calls and slithers in deep
Then it calls from within

When the pressure overtakes
That song plays in the back
destitute tunes
of drowsy deaths
That arrive unannounced and lack
Any fault whatsoever

Intrusive thoughts peek through broken minds
a crashed car
a step
        off
A laugh so twisted it pains afterthought
Do we live with it? With that choice
Suffering through in silence

The bulb fizzled out above us –streetlamp
Half-lights painted abstract art instead. We
Lay in bed, half asleep ourselves, in damp
Sheets and heavy limbs, unable to see
The ceiling display unfolding above.
We spent our time asleep, dreaming in sync,
To the beat of your twitching. Is this love?
Because I swear I saw it in the brink
Of now and then, as the little death won:
The heavens opened and the singing spheres
danced wild through your eyes. A trinity spun
into a song that only I could hear.
Stirring, you saw none of that, while the lights
Of the streetlamps hummed softly in the night.