When I try to put to words
the daily agony of living
I build a boundary wall of word bricks
I limit the reality of this ostensibly
embodied existence
For it is not solely contained
beneath my flesh
at the base of pores
knotted in bone.

It escapes me with every breath
Every word
Every salty tear
This pain of living palpates
Radiates
And to try to capture it in words
Suggests it can be caught
pinned down
identified, categorised, objectified
Subjected to investigation
Observation
Interrogation
When in fact it is elusive
Ethereal
Beautiful
Utterly terrible

She deserved it.
Everyone agrees with me.
The signals mixing with the cocktails
and I don't even know what time it is.

She had it coming.
Her parents told her so.
I was acting like any guy would. Should.
Skin taunting. Hips hypnotising me with
That rhythmic pulsing
Suggesting
Requesting.

She wanted it.
How was I supposed to know
when she bit her
lip that way, flirted that
way, smiled that
way, dressed
that
way
asked
for
it.

She did it to herself.
It's not my fault.
That's the way things are, right?

Wrote myself a letter
naming all the things I'd done
stained my soul pitch black
set my heart on a cantering run

Folded up that letter
the smallest pocket square
carried it heavy on my heart
too shameful to be shared

Left that blasted letter
to age with lint and time
never took it out that pocket
to reminisce with summer wine

One day that letter's weight
made my breath so hard to catch
I finally plucked it from my pocket
and with a prayer I struck a match

Perhaps that cursed letter
was written for the gods
for after, not much later
I found myself at odds

The man within my letter
stood across my door
holding paper aged and ashen
he let flutter to the floor

"All these years of silence
and none a word from you
would have had me believing
your mouth's lies to be true

But I have read your letter
though destroyed it you had tried
so I know your heart
and how blatantly you lied

I wish you'd paid the postage
and sent this to me then
saved us both the heartache
of lost lover and best friend"

I crumpled at his words
like the paper in my hand
held it up - peace offering
to that blasted, blessed man

"My darling I am sorry
I left with words untrue
The biggest truth in all the world
Is I'm hopeless without you

If you would read this letter
know you hold now my heart
I've poured it through my quill and ink
it's been yours though from the start"

Skin is sun warmed
but skeleton still rattles
desperate for soul heat
despite the fat on my sinew
and beige-lined stomach pit
last night's gin lingers
metal tongue, acid gullet
fuzzy head and discontent
my flesh doesn't fit
bad cut on my jib
across the grain
no diner satisfaction
from this dinner plate
carcass inedible

I would gut myself
**** to clavicle
(If only it didn't ***** the carpet)
Scoop out my insides
Melon ball platter
Rancid, unpalatable bile
Untouchable innards
And a prayer:
Foldable, soft and ragdoll
Pliable and girlish and pretty
Everything I evade
With shovel hands
Mastication-worn jaw hinge
Too full, sickening
Rotten teeth acid stripped bare
Purging and pleading
For a lighter load
How awful to believe myself
Worth all the more
To society soon as I'm empty

The feelings have wrapped themselves round my bones
Sewn themselves into my lining
Animating my body
Urging my limbs to clamber
Desperately into bed
No tears in my eyes
Just a heaviness in my skeleton
And I have resigned myself
To retreat once more
Hoping this weight lifts as quickly as it settled over me
Stifling and consuming
Draining
Draining
Drained

a friend's autocorrect described me as 'sweet soil'
technological mishap, misnomer
right on the money
sweet soil soul
clad in terracotta warmth
fresh mulch with new rain as seasons change
home and distant at once
ready for bare feet and dirt under fingernails
care is messy, didn't you know
mother. nature. as earth is nurture and support for fragile roots
tender stems, new growth thriving despite harsh winters.

i sense an embroidery project for new gardening gloves
and fresh bulbs for colder climes
with changing season so too does a storm brew in me
all I can do is hope barkskin heals
sweet sap keep contained
and leaf flesh plump
for colour among the earthen tones
and rebirth sprouts hope
in echoing trunk-chests that forgot
decay is part of the lifecycle

how technology can still blossom
new life, connection
organic and born of bytes
not thorn-***** integration
plant and palm
but a symbiosis of metals from the earth
and well-rooted saplings
ready to weather the moon's teary refrain
as autumn slips in on the back of hazy September blues to grey