the rocks dripping. one two
one to polyrhythmic bliss

how boring would it be to
fall together, We wash ov  e  
                                                  r

aliving,hardfast careening hope
    slipped&lit   the fuse of love

           I hoped it was You,I
 clung on      til it was just a rag

tonight, You glanced off
the wall like a suggestion;

just headlights, though. I
see You in everything.

years ago My Mam made
Me a blanket.  Her fingers
wrought realisation from
the present,       & I sit
beneath That every day.

I imagine burning It     ,
corner to corner, to a
web of sparking reality;
a web of every    little
two-headed         Lamb.

I read It, I cry&read It
again, become fraught
with unbecoming. every
Lamb sees twice as many
stars, &so I see it too.

this morning I sought
the centre,    turned one
million holes        to one,
& channelled everything
to   My own experience.

I find Myself
  in Him, in the
    way I say
   "I like this."
I find Myself
         becoming
like the lapping
yearsome waves.

He is someone
    it's worth being,
My always there,
  My mate.    
                   & I
listen to His music
  & tap the way He
    always has.

it is something
     to find some
white on me; the
   firstly sign
of aging.       it is
something else
    to be Him,My
old man is here.

where,honey &lemon
  is replacing the
flowersome air,where
the sea is not half
   as sugary as

all the little somethings
       (I want all the
  little somethings)
,but nothing & nothing
   is what I,ve found.

is relief grown
in riverbeds,where   is
  content & her litter
of reminders that,'every
thing    will be   okay?

one of My
       little somethings
,to Me,       shows I am
okay, on board&sailing
           for utopia.

,  or perfect the word 'love'. I
have run my fingers through Her
   hair and only called it soft.

there is no bottled lightning
   or thunderous applause.
She deserves a wave, wonder;
   it all and even more.

& keyed it into Me. I let
the window's air in through;
a hot&breathy breeze.

I let Myself try on love's coat
to feel her systole. I let
the beat go through its arc,
touch electricity.

I let Myself get sick of love,
pyretic, come to be. I let
Myself to feel its warmth,
and now I feel its heat.

I let I let I let but not
ever in control. I let
myself in love with You,
and You have let Me go.

i finally saw two magpies
for the first time
                   since february
(they were resting on
                         a signpost
then, it was valentine's day)

i wrote 'happy valentine's j x'
     & imagined you florid
(it was calflove&sweet
       & it only grew stronger)

letters, dried flowers, poems
          i wrote for You
(We were kizmit,to be,
           i always wanted You)

i gave You everything i had
   ,all but kissing sense,
(i wish i did, your lips
    were all love ever meant)

i finally saw two magpies
  You have a love, i don't,
but i have finally seen joy
        & You will see me float

yesterday My pin fell off,
        'radio heart'
it said,so yellow&bubbly.

I said it was a sign, I said
  My universe
is spinning me out&out into

a waltz & I cannot keep up.
     the music,
it's all a little too loud

& You move a little too fast,
             My dear.
You move a little too swift

& collapse into a twirling
     eidolon, falling
right through My fingers.

(this love of fate is true)

You, My chimera, were
          so woven into
      this rippling fabric
I wore as a man
  in love

& fate, She is more
than haute couture; She
   is a pair of jeans worn
,torn & patched up well.
         She is timeless in

living&walking, knowing
   I gave it all       to You.
My kizmit,   You gave Me
new    heartache, which
       I will plant, & reap

                            amor fati.

closed your eyes & I imagined
how You felt;  the itch of the sun,
the thirsty breeze & My sating gaze

You looked so beautiful  ,  then  ,
quenched by    love & wanting,
flowered&budding a new meaning
of what it is to just Be,so perfectly

vashti bunyan, i am rocked/
/fluting free to Her melody

You put the kiss in kismetly,
it is My reassurance of fate/
/destiny/She's/loves always
for                                      Me,

arthur russell, falling in sea
soundscape//spacelike in 4D

I ask You,please,fall into Me
& pluck at my heart like a cello
Please,in C,fall into Love & Me

alive, that this hurt is good,
I am swept into waves of
cleansing, fragrant blood.

it is the nature of living
on the knife's always edge,
& it is here I mitose;
one life lived, one hedged.

I chase risk like hot foxes
might chase a chaste rabbit,
I dig my teeth into chance
like the germs who inhabit

not wounds, more incisions,
My purposeful reminders
that I am alive, hurt is good,
that I'll bleed until I find Her.

"no overthinking",what about
       understanding
the echoing pines of this hill
                             side landing?

We are a picnic,My Love,of
flowers&leaves,,    We taste
of green heaven   through
    tongues   &   teeth;

it is always You,though,
       always the same
dream of Us,         in Love,      
         again & again

I am not overthinking,thinking
   of We,      I believe in
spring romance, in
              growing pinetrees

let us return to nature,    not
   think with Our head,  choose
Your heart,use Love,
come & lie      in the flowerbed

where You danced, it was
not on the     doorsteps
of this

            space
    
  but on the lowhum,glowing
grass of somewhere far
  more real...

ethereal,the walls harp
in operatic glee,
                            the angels
walk like You & twirl
                     & twirl
                  & twirl

   ,they are dizzy with Love
& they fall, to line the floor
                          for You

(wood pigeon,cooing Me
  its therapy                      )

You are a little bow,tied
around My fingerstems.

You fit there well, You &
a loveline, straight to Me.

wave,cresting
       ,only
      falling
       since,
it was always
  
new.
  Deep Blue,
i am unfound
in swimming
  You,

fingers finding
   nothingbut
her,gorgeous,
dipping
         membrane.

Love, i just want
    to kiss You
          ,& i am so
turbulent in
             waiting,

   God. i just want
to die.

are like                the dirt
    to Me;
                   I will scrunch
You up                    & fold
You in between my toes

   walk around,hip sway
to the true beat of Love,,,

You,are like the dirt to me

rollback,    the dim redness
(that you've been
                                 before)
is breaking over blackness
        ,       your outcrop spine.

realise      splitting starriness;
it is andromeda.            
           She is a    paining
constellation,a cluster hot
                     of nerve endings

relapsing,into dizzy relativity,
that you are (yet to
                                    become)
        still.
                i am all        but still,

everything is spinning
                               so perfectly.

this air is dry;  summerful
yellow turned dehydrated
           kindoforange
,slurring      into drier hands.    
       same ones that ran
                    over
my beautiful ribs. beautifully
giftwrapped,edges folded neat.

    i really am so very neat.

(i miss the flowers)

  the rock you gave me
(/magpie/, so penguinly
                beautiful)
rolls around my sum
                -mertime fist;

it is old,has stories of Love,
& still,maybe,is volcanic on.

step into a name
like Urs           leaves
my feet so pale&dusty

;;;not for lack of
richness     ,,,no!

        U
        hang
        like
        a
        tho­ught
        bubble

under moon (& her
             gracious mind)
,   a real.tangible.place
&         so        are         U

    We could live in
           la mestra
(how ever U would like
           to spell it...)
Urs  is  the  only  name
     that            matters
             to   me

,cool,       into water
  like socks; whirlpools
splash is more than  that.
suddenly          something
from                       nothing
  n  isn't that sooooo
                    gorgeous ???
        no,so tragically
           temporary.

i need to be
    away
 with the fae.

none of this feels
quite     so samely
           ;
the charming lilt
of a     hotreddot
     crystal/eyeses
my throat like
       cotton wool.

i need to be
music;       almost
like how    i ammm
myyyyy  poetryyyy,

n      i        don't  
   knowww     howww.

She is
        so wonderful.
  it is some thing
of a    fantasy in
how She flows;

(so    non-linear
  (like Her skirthem
is time
  (in a swift
   & graceful bow)))

She is static
     ,butmobile, &spinning
rain in Her hands;
   She is knitting droplets
        & folding waves ,

         knowing my
lips are soft,undefended
                .irarelylookup.
     yit She is there
  & there She always was

just in touching,grazing
at the edge of likelihood.
  Her name is Hope
and She is such
a spectacle.

(a hatless boy/a cowless gunslinger)
maroon about the ****** pond.
                           selfsuck-
kingly,
spurless boot drags nameless nothings
like a bridal train
                              (so promised You are)...
the dust lies though. perchance
                                           the rockylike
grit in my throat has found the
                                           perfect home

(only eight weeks later)

re enveloped,(no)O(bow)
so folded hemispherically;

flaking,    crumbing,    Love.
it is buoyant in its optimism

& kisses ideas      of sinking
Us,We are Love's ocean floor.

(it is filled with)
(jam & sugar    )

She tilts barefoot on
                                     eve of
                                     evening
,lilting,  a pacific hypo
       thetical excerpt on

"
why(iam)here &
what(wedo)next
"

it is something
of a copper wire;
    vitality.         in
the longer you lap
your legs in its terra   cotta
                                       ,the more
                                        exacting
(stringentl­ysinuous)   the scar

in place
a sense of
where i amnt
more than
 where
i plant my
ankles like
two little
orange
trees.

it is honest in its opalescence.
my love listens
                        to the rising tide
                        &  the ebb&flow
my love buries itself in green
                               -bottle sand.

You, with your
                           searching
                           fingers
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
, You are missing
from Me.

"i really like you" is not all it is,
more     bellyful&hearty in its way.
so 'love' is a scary thing to call it,
no? i think Love is kindly&honest.
the 'jordiness' of it all; You are like
music i will never hear, or fashion
  i will never wear. You, always
                                            'not quite'.

yet You are hot, notcold, & Love is tall
the 'jordiness' of it all is newness
& i believe We are not over yet ...
           so silly;call me in love & crazy.
You are beautiful,sweet& notyetmine,
You are,everything,but mine. as You are
in Love with him, I am in Love with You.

is a slender beauty. the
    sideways stance of
'i hope it does not
                     touch me'
(it does,though). love,
with its perfect
               nail beds &
finger knuckles.
   She will reach you
      all the same.

there is a fatness to it,
too;    
    a lying roundness
who wills She/will not cut
you. She is scarletred &
  lives in you;She is
  who you call 'living'.

reservoiry in its
volume,
               fill my lungs
time&time over. fill
  every saucer,gilded
&unstolen, replace my
air with it. She does
   not breath colourless,
but has the flow
                  of water.

in the word,'love' is
the recurring curl of
love,
&love
&love
again.
            She is the end
             & everywhere,
if i could only see Her.

the smelting eye
   of the       morning
would close in a
   smile;inhale
the daylight between
     each fighting giggle

embrace the caring air
        of reading! take note
  of each of my bleeding
words & palate them
to taste      the true meaning
   of how i love You

every letter belongs,is Yours.
every poem i have
                 laid down to rest
is Yours&Yours forever;
   if only (the sky still glows)
               (You still read them)

this pissedup drawl of an evening
was    just that;
                       stumbling           through
                            time&nausea
as Someone,i could only cry.

high & notquite
                         dry,I
slipped into our music like silk
                                          in sleeves
& think about all the pretty notes i
left you.    think about your hand
                                         on my knee
                  (that one time,"accidentally")

so in sleep as life,
       in my dream i dreamt of kissing You.
in Your,flushing gleam, & weaving voice
i dreamt of Your dream,
               of how You
                   want me
                   holding You.

of Me, i hope
    the sagging moon
         & her tired hands
   fall on Your shoulders
to wash in how I see You

i hope
  the delicate dried
           flower
     & her springly laugh
  realises You love Me

i hope
    the singing magpie
& his warbling tone
     echoes the songs
  in which I played You

i think
     i hope You hope
           i Am

mind.          like a
      twirling,sweeping breeze,
We would be
    swanning up the coastline
    of some
         sweet&birdsung
                       place

(eating up candlelight,
    stalking halated joy,
walking the long walk,
talking of how We love)

if i could sway Your
mind.                 like a
             flowing wave dips
             the coral,
He would hold His luck
         like a clamshell,dashed
         upon     rocks of fault
& left to saltly dissolve

(Pearlescently, You
may roll around my
fingers.  come alive
under my jolting/
                   lectric
touch & realise my
riveting certainty)

if i could sway Your
mind.       like a
    flourished page turning,
      You would read more
  than

(lungfuls of effervescent love,
exhale,eye it melt across the sky
& drip down Your shoulders,
play the magpies kizmit tune)

if I could sway Your
mind like a tree,
You would fall into love
                                   &Me

swishes Her skirthem
in a swift
        and graceful bow
           
    &
  a knowing glance
  (the flushed cheeks
   and kissing eyes)
flashes like
                      sparking
                      end of lip
                      
                        striking
                      end of lip

wave, to wonderful swirling
bluegreen cool

apex. acme. precipice of
Us; the cresting belief in
                         'We are to be'

rolls&folds me out
    to float - the polar verse
of promise in' shoes

so cymbal crash on back
of beat. the symphony aqua!
              acquiesce His vice

stroke Her little seawater death.
all things in time return to wave.

the un bridled un
                         buttoning
  of sense
               ...
                (          a     pointless,whipping
                                             towel of wind)
                                                        ...­
& the sylphic roots
           ,whom in their
fishbowl head.
      their endless lung

                       un dressed You
         ....
                               (static RINGing
                                electric moan)
                                          ...
& Your greenhillmounds
                 trembled
          greener,became
...
(this              wracked                 incessant
          waltzing whistle.    )
                                                ...­
                       a poolofpunch. the
                       cellulose We once dug
                       our fleshly little Thumbs into
                ...
                   (a two-hundred mile
                                      rockfall splash)
                                                         ...
                       stained like
                        the idea of heaven

  &myshirttoo                             deliquesced
     diffused                               &liquified
  
We covered              Our Earthly Body
                 in organic spilling mess &
drank

(ffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffff­)

                 Us                        like we ******.

the airsick scarf of
                                    /well,nothing/
snakes down My back
as a familiar hand          might
a pale&flexing spine

enticing'er
               swimming assembly
                     of corpuscles
     (&theveneratingrubsofsternum)

ha! no! relinquish the
   cold       &
   metallic     sting

                                        to Her,so
                                        svelte,the
       ­                                 succuba
                        ­                of chance.

to Her,then,
the sketch of
one's chimera

unrhyming in the jilty way                      i am
never stepping how You weave flowersome

(chalky Moon she can not finger into
/liquid Sun her molten gold    will,dryup)
the ground,
   each flowersome heel You soft-soap
into charming new Somethings,
                                              lifely green

no setting - kinda jellylike - the eve
will forges on in her shimmery way
(& birdsong is similarly shimmery)
lasting forever like lifetime of bees
,hopefully,
                  or preserved in petalwrap
(& it is You   giving the time its tick)

You are in rhyming with the Universe
so hum in the       softly folds of music.

i will weigh
each plasticky
edge
          of
               love
'gainst each soft hand

  & feel their flow
riding finger grooves

find an ego-shaped
              box
(round with       atomic
         what/whereness)
& keep there

wanting More with
      /Her

wanting Such  with
                    others

so It spills
                      ,like
honeymilk,& sweetness
eyes  (,dilating,)   me

diluting form & fuzzing
hardfast careening
joy.            in motion
                  &iam sick

is it newness of This?
is it secret       fizzing
Desire for You,
                   Me for Me