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The Noose Jan 2018
I can only say this to you
While you're sleeping
I drag a tremble
From another realm
Like pulling an endless string
From the throat
My head is a caged animal
Some kind of madness
Coiled around bone
I dangle at the edges
And borders of everything
That wilts
and
You
Say my name
As though you've found grace
The Noose Jan 2018
The freezing mercury
left the bone
Something
devoured the trail
The Noose Jan 2018
Your face is the moon
Guiding
These feet
That always tread
Towards the uncharted
In search of home
Distant places
Euphoria
It gathers
Washes up at my feet
Takes root to eager bones

You encircle

My spirit drifts towards these things
Your face is the moon
Gleaming with zeal
The asylum of your arms
Mending the snare
Spliced by old knives
Long forgotten
At the bend of nevermore


You encircle my yearning

The asylum of madness
In the center of winter
Some kind of palpable presence
Forevermore drips down your chin
I am a ship passing in the night.
The Noose Jan 2018
Day and night's
Fleeting Collision
Above
the field of dreams
Prairie grass swaying
To the sound of the wind's
Gentle aria
Caressing skin
The sweet scent of the evergreen
Carried in the breeze
Hauntingly
Lingered like a shadow
Stilling
The hue of dusk
Saffron's fade
Igniting bones
Spirit's reprieve
At the edge of August
The Noose Dec 2017
His advances are doused
In ludicrous intensity
And devastating emotion
A sufferer tethered
To puppet strings
Clutching on to the hem of my dress
Consuming each word I say

And I,
Do not care for him.
The Noose Dec 2017
"Time it was,
And what a time
it was
It was
A time of innocence
A time of confidences

Can you imagine us
Years from today
Sharing a park bench quietly?
How terribly strange
To be seventy"
The Noose Dec 2017
It sat in the viscera that winter
It all did
The unfed energy of madness
The unbridled
Recklessness
Foaming at the mouth
Virulent
Bordered and contained
The ****** footprints
Of choice
Deranged rationalisations
Virulent
Bordered, not contained
Seeping through the fissures of sanity
Tipping at the very edge of reason
Where once blousy hydrangea bloomed
Cradling the night
The gothic hands of time
Stood frozen.
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