Longing.

As I move over a grey road the feeling reveals itself,
I feel a tear form in my eye as I move further and further from home.
And as I move away from this happy place
A song is being sung, and you are it's lyrics.
The lyrics are your poetry, your love it's melody,
And your heartbeat is my home.

Longing.

Underneath a fruitful tree I dream of you,
Your gaze fixated on mine, always and forever…
You're singing a song about our beautiful home,
And you paint my hands onto a canvas,
A rich and detailed canvas,
It imitates my every imperfection, but you move past them…
You love me.

Longing.

While you can paint an imitation of me…
I am no painter, I cannot draw,
So here is our love in poetry.
My imitation is one of my heart,
An expression, an inherent truth.
Guide me to your soul, my Poppy,
There we'll stay. There we'll stay.

Longing.

Here in this dream land once again,
A field of poppies, I take you there,
Sometime in time future.
There we'll kiss, there we'll exist.
We'll be present. You'll be in my arms.

You were here before…
Searching for something,
Your hands fumbling from spine to spine
Inferno, Paradise Lost, Michelle Obama,
Bertolt Brecht. Glance to see a figure serving coffee,
You will amount to nothing. You or I?

Life is a series of disoriented imitations…
Strange noises slip from your throat,
Strange because… you see…
You're intelligible. Bertolt Brecht.
Something more absurdist… but no…
Sisyphus. Observe him push a boulder
Over and over… Sartre…  ****.

Why do you believe a reference
Reflects intelligence? Stupid boy,
You're a pseudo-intellectual.
Why rage against the standardisation
Of mediocrity if you yourself are
Mediocre. Why use enjambment on
Lines previous for convenience?
See the banal intolerance of your poetry?

You were here before,
Stroking spines… whatever that means…
This was about a feeling…
But even that is null.
Bertolt Brecht rots and laughs…
A small child picks fruit.

I


time end
beginning
past
good bad
was
now you see
say
this be nature

things inevitable
in the grand scheme
this be nature
so

call absurdity to
old man on side of street
who with sign calls god
god god god see

for god
say he

so he point
mouth and brain
say very
primitive you be
see
this be nature

this this
be nature
see?













II

remember
time was
two
were you
three i
recall
not
mind
disorientation
as grow old

there be
distant memory
be you kind to me
distant memory.
time be conceptual
conceptual be time.















III

feet press
shingle beach
cut through
soul
wherever

snap
like
in form of
imitation of heart

associate















IV

all this

                                                           ­                           drifting

            swimmer



     ­                                                                 ­                                  exist






                   ­                                boulder



take
                                                                ­                    all
                                         ­                                                                 ­                              
                  end all






               ****

remember
time was
two
were you
three i
recall
not
mind
disorientation
as grow old

there be
distant memory
be you kind to me
distant memory.
time be conceptual
conceptual be time.

time end
beginning
past
good bad
was
now you see
say
this be nature

things inevitable
in the grand scheme
this be nature
so

call absurdity to
old man on side of street
who with sign calls god
god god god see

for god
say he

so he point
mouth and brain
say very
primitive you be
see
this be nature

this this
be nature
see?

In your half remembered dreams
That you call memories that seemed
So strange and far away as we drift
Further and further from time, I was there.
And there we were, our tongues one
In a beautiful way. My mouth smelt of coffee.

There you are, sitting with your hand
Clasped by mine in the vast sky
Of our collective memory. Sitting there
Felt like such a significant moment...
The sort that occur once an eternity.
My subconscious implants a desire
To run with you through fields of poppies,

I pluck a single flower, place it in your hair.
And we kiss in these fields of old memory.
Collective memory. I exist within you.
Vice versa you say and we kiss, my breath
Still marked with the stench of coffee.
I mark your neck with a strong kiss.

I feel overbearing happiness in this field
Of our collective memory. And so a tear
(As it does) drops from my face.
And you wipe it away and kiss my cheek...
This vision implants itself in me.

In my half remembered dreams
That I call memories, they are pervaded
By the image of your face...
I pluck a poppy from it. An exchange of
I love you. Coffee shops and public
Displays of affection. That's right.
We share a long kiss.