I sit.
still; left leather top
and gate closed. far
from earth; ragged
look.

You never reached the door.
You stood outside, faced the sitting room.
Rain beating scars to heavy windows.
A warm fire panting. The couch patting the warm space
     you left; your lips
     open ajar, as my door,
and down your leg, a line,
a scrawl: love.

     To answer an angry growl,

I sang:
“please, two peas!
     you left;
don’t go — I’ve a hole in my heart,
     you know?”

     That exultation: it’s exhausting.

Aghast
An arthritic clicking of the fingers.
     I’ve snapped them like crazy.
     I’m clicking them now! Like the dog might come to me!?
I could change tempo.
     Life by my own beat for a bit.

But
     now, now
let’s try to find sanity.
     “I’m not just talking to myself. Please, forgive! Listen:
      We can’t run away from anger. We’ve got to make peace and be real.”
So look not forlorn, for us:
knee-deep in filth,
chatting and fighting.
Because I liked you.
And you liked me.
      A little bit.

a wake
sprung light from death
and streamed the heat to my face.
A column, and a call
“leave your mask in bed!”

And it’s light
     (though it won’t seem like it.)

Here:
below our crests; over our troughs —
I’m climbing a wire: an altar!
All is white and I am The Starkest Black
Now prostrating and revering myself.
He speaks: “tame a wild animal”.
I am.

time to go gel
slicked back with cool smooth devils.
writing, waving
wads of sodden paper

and those pads
whip at us
like light
they strew paper
in the pit.

go on, steal a piece
and you can try to read it
and turn it into yours

Wrought to eject.
    Press red.
I unbutton my neck
    and fly—

    Oh Jesus, why did you follow!?
The flies that
    seductively sat on the
    blood-thirsty banks:
now everywhere;

Disturbed and angry—
now, they swarm us.
I cover my wounds,
my eyes, and
      walk.

Dear Strings,
Who’s sung?
And whose tune —
Beats in this ****** room?
When I could have just followed you,
hearing you out, your melody.
Tugging you closer to me.

Pulling on the string till I find your tail.
The long tail that has accompanied
My days,
fawning for attachment, belonging, company, distraction.

Four years pretending to escape,
and I still want to forget everything,
stop living slices of celluloid,
and become you.

After a storm
the sea feels sick
laps at your bones

(until)

Your feet touch, your minds don’t;
you blow kisses, they’re carried off:
as the wind; to white face rocks.

There’s you, and you, and me—
laughing, trembling.
Leaving: ripples on a mirror.

(for)*

Even when they need it: an open hand to steady;
A solitary swimmer shan’t seek synchronisation.
They’ll sink silently: sapphires streaming,
guiltily gurgling.
As faces gently distort: they’re left castaway.

first, five syllables;
then use seven syllables;
back to five: easy!

endless
mellowness,
    c o m e
      dress in a mirror.
draw soft glares
     across the surface
           (and surface someone.)

    endless song
  drum me notes,
         but not so hard!
      s l o w   d o w n .
         listen to the thundering bass
pushing our breath through our mouths
and shaking our hair and bones
like the footsteps of some great thing
that suffices to vibrate our bodies across the surface
like weightless toys.

Dry luck
flakes fallow forehead.
       (I’ve come for you.)

It promises, a hundred times, to grow
and recklessly rakes the earth.
My nails: long, pointed, poignant.

Digging into and in with my hands.
Crossing and holing XXO
       (I love you but you’re lost.)

Perfection can be found in electricity.
An artificial spark
running through wires,
exciting and exiting.

I much prefer nature.
No shock there, just life
sprouting from my mind
With roots that strengthen my bones
or sap my energy
eternally.

How lucky.
To hop over the furrowed faces.
Out-stretch legs;
Our heads interlocked.
Supporting rocks,

Not that we fit.
There are gaps to be filled;
Coarse horse hair.
Lover, break me.

Isn’t it hard to wish for a turn in the road?
Alas we must just tap our feet and return.

every root must
avoid the pluck of
disasters’ strings;
granted time it must
break the surface’s
earthen prison.

Show us:
         swaying stories,
         softly storming.
She blew
         blossom, brushes
         forehead; farewell
fruit of flickering frames.

When we watch
and argue,
         (eyes smiling,
          this is me.)
Who wishes
for furtive false films?

“We will”
rectifies reeling reality.

I still struggle in the swirling current.
Yet, you’ll just wash up
on the salt water shore.

And under a weeping sun,
I’ll walk you from
The water.
The wrapping waves washing worries
That tossed you.
The froth
That cleansed us of our mind.

We left our soles wasting away on the shore.
All that is left: between our toes;
grains of golden sand.

I like when you speak.
     Now you’re making Os with your mouth,
     (or are they NOs?)
Either way, the next day:
protect those little pearls tucked away in your mouth.
From me; a deep red sea diver,
packing myself up.
Weighed down then floating up.

I came up, air head,
breathe — and another she gave it to me: “We’re dead.”
Her tongue was salty. Breath crisp like I’d never left it.

*No soles, no golden grains; white washed out.

Did I   do fine?
I did,   I    followed a beat:
            mine; and in a manner,
     my mind— thumping, turning tables
round bends; corners escaped:
lost a pulse of any quality.

Yet, I feel I can     still hear it,
still remember it, still find it. I'll
hold it closer this time, so delicately,
so preciously. Minding not to squeeze it,
nor to ignore it: to sink    attention
                           to synch affection—
I become a vessel—
and blissful beats bruise her cheeks
a colour that I've never seen before.