Sanguine
Choleric
Melancholic
Phlegmatic
Phlegmatic
Melancholic
C­holeric
Sanguine
Blood oranges
And hibiscus tea
White wine
Carcrash memory
Hypertensive
He straps me down on the table
This is for my own good.
Too much blood they say,
Too much red wine too much liquid
Too much
My hand is swollen
My stomach distended
The vein in my forehead is bulging
Too much blood
A needle
A leech
A pen
Blood oranges
White wine
A needle is a leech is a pen
Is what the doctor ordered
He straps me to the desk
This is for my own good
A cure
Too much blood
Too much tea
Too many memories
Too many thoughts
Hypertensive
Sanguine
They say
They hand me the scalpel
And show me the line
Too much
I’ve had too too much red wine
To be doing this
A pen a leech a needle
A bucket of blood
A novel
Sanguine
Melancholic
Choleric
Phlegmatic
This is the cure
This is for my own good
Too much much blood
They hand me the pen
I’ve had too too many
Blood oranges
To be doing this
A scalpel is a pen
Is a leech is a needle
A bucket of blood is a novel
(Bleeding is the cure)
I bleed.

i feel like a car crash
like fiberglass dust ground into
blood stains sticking to my tshirt there is
nothing left but the way that i feel
dizzy, like my bones have shifted an inch to the left
and the rest of me forgot to follow
i feel out of it, lost in a sea of
burning rubber and smoking engine
grease
i feel like my weight has been lifted and i am
floating into space, like
the universe made room for me in her arms and i am
ascending to the outer reaches of
life
and everything,
everything is chaos
this entropy settles into my skin and i am
reaching outward, trying to find a tactile response to my
existence,
trying to figure out how i know this is
reality and not a coma dream.
i am endlessly screaming into this void,
devoid of faith and lost to sensation
i am learning.
i am learning what it is like to be
found
not safe, not sound, but
here.
i am the embodiment of dark matter love and
here i lay, awaiting the moment when you say that i can come
home.

I'm starting to think that maybe you were just born distant. Your mother held you from the furthest place that is in the hospital. And you move from place to place, but my place. Wellington and London so when you said “Baby, you feel like home to me.” it means 12,990 miles apart from each other. And sometimes you are just a dream away, though I often woke up crying. Or though most of the time i didn't wake up at all, still sleeping.
We used to talk about how lucky humans are, that they have 12,990 plus ways of saying I owe you my eternity. And how I love you is at the very bottom of the list. A ***** disgrace, barely hanging with the hollowness it brings everytime it rings. So you can't really blame me that every single time you spit your ‘I love you’s the only way i ever wanted to reply was with an ‘I hate me too’s.
Babe,
you haven't been saying ‘drive savely’ lately so I've been causing trouble down the road. Drawing zigzags here and there, yelling “At least you don't burn like this” to a carcrash.
Babe, ask me ‘are you home yet?’ because i was never once home since the day you stopped coming home, just 12,990 miles apart from each other. and ask me if i was ever safe and i'll be looking at you with my confused face and say “i'm in a war how can i be safe?”.
And sometimes you are just a dream away, barely hanging with the hollowness it brings everytime you ring.

Everybody dies
That risk is part of living
We all walk around knowing our next breath
may be our last
But we're all hoping to be 85 someday
and die of old age
when living got boring anyway

You probably won't get there
your heart, is a timebomb
every heartbeat another tick
tick tick tick
running towards it's last tick
it's last beat, before your veins close around it
your body attacks it, because it isn't really yours

And the numbers ain't good
they talk years, maybe one or two decades
but it will be soon, when your timebomb runs out of time


If my own heart
connects with yours
if I make it beat faster
and give my extra ticks to you
do I buy you more time?

Is there a magical prayer
a bribeable doctor
another heart you can gain from a carcrash?

Can I blow my own life into yours
increase your lifespan with poetry
keep your heart going, for many decades to come?

I just met you
you're still the new guy in my life
I have no right to claim you
but timebomb inside you
please never explode.

I'm hoping someone dies today
maybe a carcrash or a shooting
someone to simply stop his breath

I'm hoping someone dies today
Friends to open their mouths in disbelieve
by this unexpected news

I'm hoping someone dies today
Family members crying
as they carry him to his grave

I'm hoping someone dies today
I'd never wish that on anyone
but my heart is failing.... and I want to live myself

sugar-soaked in sepia
our expressions embellished like squashed liquorice
a sticky tattoo on tattered sleeves
an exhibition of adolescence

smiles that split our faces sore
gnawed lips cracking
to reveal chattered gnashers
stained from library coffee and
polished with bargainbin toothpaste

our salted skin doused in *****
and coke – making the memory oh-so sweeter
surrounded by a band of bar-time brothers
lost in an array of technicolour strobes
oblivious to the incoming traffic
and the carcrash they call adulthood

I remember the melody being played
the regular Wednesday swansong
NOW DON'T LOOK BACK IN ANGER

I rarely do

the nape of her neck
smells of soda and leather  

she rubs her eyes.

my hands are raspy hanging around your breastbone as if it were
a
trashcan
from which i seek vantage, looking out across the grass for a
familiar     face.

bangs tumble over her brow like rain on a
tin roof-
a soldering joint that comes undone after years of dissatisfaction, a broken arm.i am left humming an asymmetrical tune.  no longer familiar with the haptic feedback of my palm against your jawline-

i
find you the way i find the tone of a bell shaking  in my belly.
inside there, you are
a chorus of drips from the faucet
                                      a room away.     
filling the basin.

around the circumference of her wrists are thin red indentations where elastic bands have been
removed.

i can trace like-marks around her waist.
there are pink shadows between her shoulderblades that
              show me
              where
to apply pressure.

i do so and crack our spines downwards


the hairs on the back of my forearm are taken between her lips and tongue
       so as to
     moisten them at the breach of her mouth

we modernize
and carcrash into eachother

we are there dangling on the ground

Like severed limbs
as
Uru as
Uuuuuu