I use ‘oh, my god’ as an expression
not of faith, but surprise,
of wonder at beauty untouched
by ideology or dogma
as if caught, and pulled, from a dream.

I exclaim ‘oh, my god’ when stunned
not by holy ghosts, but the living,
who do kindness  as though it were nothing
unmindful of securing safe passage
into heaven, or paradise.

‘Oh, my god’, I cry, when words fall idle
or are muted to quiet reverence.
Where twisted skeins of empiric memory,
rush in crashing surf
of reminiscence and nostalgia.

I am godless, but not without reason
‘oh, my god’ being a slip of historical,
idiomatic vernacular.
Even as curiosity drives me to understand
your own ritualistic, devotional motivations.

Raise the cup, my friend
it gives us both what we need.
For you, transubstantiation
for me a divine and luscious tableaux.
For Saint Teresa in her ecstasy no doubt exclaimed
‘Oh, my god’!

They bark at cars, and howl at church bells
Mist rolls down like tears,
While smoke rises in hope.

On a thickly wooded hillside
Within a sandstone scar,
The deer with tiny horns feasts on Rhododendron.

They say there are wolves
Far away in the north
Where midwinter passes fall silent
Beneath a wedding gown of stars.

Send your daughters to the city, my merchant friend!
They will find their manners there.

I'm trying to forget you
thought by slipping thought
but my neurons keep exciting
and my gut keeps getting caught

By transmitted intervention
masquerading memory
a chemical reaction
molecular machinery

I’d blame my plasma membranes
but they're doing naturally
the things that plasma membranes do
as cytoplasmic boundaries

**** these activated receptors
and my synaptic cleft
by strengthening potentiation
without you I am bereft.

The air, superheated, cocoons us
and we drive,
northwards into the heartland
of the desert.

You, black shirted,
your smooth denims
an intrinsic part
of the landscape.
You were born into dust.

I, crisp and white,
a polarised pair
of mirrors for my eyes.

Your hands on the wheel
guide us into the belly of time.
Intent upon a road with no end.

Sunlight hits chrome,
bleeding flashes of forever
into the gaze of any who glance upon us.

The roof pulled down,
my hat is given up
to a vortex of spinning air,
whipping tiny tornadoes
of grit and long-dead weeds
into a dancing frenzy of celebration.

We have no gold on our fingers.
Our teeth shall not itch
with the sugar of a wedding cake.
And we’ll never look back.

Slowly she goes
winding her black art,
twisting the rope,
and conjuring bonds
of instant loyalty
within your close-****** heart.

Carefully she studies
adjusting the fetters,
moulding a psyche
and bending your wiles,
to her own ideals.

Gently she treads
for speed is all ruinous
to this harm she does,
and sweet cruelty bestows
infinite love, between lovers.

I went down to the ocean
an excuse for killin’ time,
an’ I found time already dead
floatin’ on the brine.

Her face was pale and lifeless,
her dress been torn to shreds,
I hitched up a sorrow
that it wasn’t me instead.

I stayed well after nightfall
just to watch her nudge the shore,
‘cos I think there’s ways of justice
and ways around the law.

I ain’t one for mercy,
I have no light inside,
but I can rise and fall, my love,
just like the turning tide.

If anger finds me wanting,
I switch to gentle peace
the dogs of war snap at my heels
straining at their leash.

Now I’m running from the ocean,
but there’s no place to hide,
this prison cell is closing in
where I will be tried.

For crimes against all comfort,
and ****** of sweet time,
I’m not the one you’re lookin’ for
the dagger wasn’t mine.

Please don’t think me restless,
there was no other way,
to separate my heart from yours
and live to fight another day.

Some are cast in metal
others chipped from stone
yet more are shaped by hand in clay
what you sculpt, you own.

When your arms wrapped around me
I felt a process start
to render me defenceless
'gainst your sacred art.

I yielded to your motion
gave my skin up to the blade
had no cause to resist
the image you had made.

My essence pooled in trickles
flooding indents as you pressed
your fingertips into my flesh
there in rapture, I was blessed.

I yearned to feel the pitcher
every split an evolution
each fetter of the holy rasp
my growing absolution.

I stand in gleaming marble
posed by you alone
forever on this pedestal
inert upon my throne.

In fatal love I slumber
and wishes are for fools
in luminescent, aching stone
naked of your tools.

Each tapping point a petal,
the slamming maul of lust
where once caressed by chisels
now I gather dust.

I dream of you approaching
to polish me anew
so I may shine in constant thanks
at being made by you.