Mari Oct 7
suppose I am
interested in how
you make egg salad.
But more
about the way
you carry
your child. I keep
my nose to the ground
my tongue
the gum studded
- heavy inhale -
to see where
you've walked. When
I grow up
I want to be
a dog. When
I grow up
and I die
I want to come back
as a dog.
I don't know how
it works
but I'm pretty
sure I'm on the lowest
rung of the ladder
because anyone any
higher wouldn't hide
the way I do.

I stare. It's OK,
I'm a dog. Just look.
Imagine looking


That line
in the shower.

See how I hold
your voice strobing
like a constant
promise, your thumb
your forefinger
on the button
of my jeans. Press
exhale double
tap back
play again.

You hear
me. Low.
It's low,
does that surprise

Mari Aug 31
I thought about not
pulling on the brakes.

I thought I could
make it 'round the corner,

take the fall
if it happened.

Splits before - always -
the dream
          carving into the mountain,

the road below
grazing my knee.

A scream is not
something that escapes.

Neither is blood.

A thief is what
is silent.

I watch myself:

each knee
alternately hitting
                     my chest

where a heart is
             roaring all the blood
                     this body.

I see the climb.

A body is an eruption
no matter how many times

you say no.
Mari Jun 29
better weather
bird blue

of the sky
is waiting

for some bright disaster,

as the dusk dissolves
this morning's doubt

Appeasement rife
today, chip-chip-chipping
away at
the really great take-away
where we return
the jars

Last night we gorged
on sauce more than enough
for the home of us,

coated ourselves all
over in red

I want to
make someone happy,
like being there

Take the lid off
and spill

red everywhere

Red because blush
blush because I want you
I get it wrong all the time
and you still *******
back arched eager to cook
for you

Traffic lights
carry on
with no thought

for the argument
green amber read as a go

Breakfast leftovers
and the whole house smells red,
stains the corners of
the mouth that I dip my fingers into
Mari Jun 22
"The love of my life" is myself
holding a yoga mat

hot and wet myself just dripping
off my face between my *******

Ashtanga, I've never tried yoga
but tangy, like the sound of that

like me after a hard day's work
in mind and in body

bouncy like sure you can touch
me but ultimately order is

hardly ever restored. She told me
she has shoes floor to ceiling

an aura is built from the soul
up, I reach for the salt

and I get told to ask. I see
this is a sign so I turn around

Imagine a dinner party. Imagine
the people snaking

the table. Imagine you're one
of them. Imagine you say

something funny. Funny,
not strange funny like dog

nicks flip flop leaves it flapping
up the street slight breeze

sometimes upturned as fish
fish bowl/lost souls Pink Floyd

I'm some smart guy's father
no I don't speak Italian

and mostly I'm just a little
confused about what to tell

people when they ask
where my name's from. I

hop up the street until I find
the flip flop. Marooned

and missed. But if I left you you
could show me what you're really

made of. How long would you
last out here baking

in the midnight heat?
I saw a girl wearing a t-shirt saying "the love of my life is myself", holding a yoga mat, chatting away to perhaps her mother and this happened.

Lost souls/fish bowls I lifted from Pink Floyd's Wish You Were Here.

People frequently tell me I have the music taste of a dad. My father's Italian but I don't speak Italian, which sometimes disappoints people. A minor insecurity.
Mari Jun 12
I think
this mirror is
and now
I don't know
who to trust
I turn
from one side
to the next
and I know

I'm falling
out of love
without you
I no longer believe
a word
I miss
getting out
of here
smelling something
on the walls. Just
This is why
you fall
asleep before
and definitely
before the light
starts changing
and day starts
all the messy hair it has
to offer.
It all depends on the way the sun is shining I expect.
Mari May 28
We check
into a hotel room:
"Let's talk"

                     doesn't come into it
                when leaving work
           before the light does means:
      "Let's get out of here."  

                             from The Underground

         buffing my fingertips along the red brick,
              I reflect: no wonder
                   we tear our clothes.

              The door clicks:
         "Come in."

     There were guns behind the curtains
          but I saw
               a chance at

so I ran.
I suppose it's about love at all costs. Love for yourself.
Mari May 18
The people, moved, and like miniature,
looked down on from the mountains.

Empires look small from aeroplane
windows so sometimes I insist on the aisle

seat, where I can imagine
you; big and full of all the worlds

I've ever known and will ever cry for. Except
perhaps for the earth-

a journey I can't yet fathom. Still
I pursue the future. Even under a microscope

you could barely see me shake. ****
wanders while strength strains to meet

the struggle. My knuckles
white through wishing so hotly

for you for you for you
to introduce me to the faces

of you, illuminated by the drive along
the coasts where the waves crash

and the gulls caw and houses slide towards
the blue inevitable and planes soar

right in front of our eyes. And yes, sometimes
through very high buildings of time

& money time & money time & money.

The sun was there that evening.
                                                        ­    “As was I," confessed the moon.
Possibly the most Aquarius thing I've ever written.
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