In the distance,
a speck of green and blue

and grey pulls me closer
the curious fires on me and it
spread.

I land on the speck
Of green and blue

and grey
and the people
greet me
with a stretched hole on top of their bodies.
As if it is being pulled
by some other thing

I ask them about the speck
of green and blue

and grey
they say
you can do as you may
lay on the bay
all day
and watch the stars play.

These people of beige and brown

and grey
listen to my story of my speck
and they reject
Their falsehoods of fantasy lives
glare In front of them.

Like the lights from my ship.

I watch the people of beige and brown and grey
On their speck of green and blue and grey
And wonder in sympathy.

We drove past it every Thursday;
blank, bleach white walls.
Clean, block rectangular.

There was a garage
and sometimes a black car
in the driveway.

It stood out crowded by cluttered
town houses smothered in ivy,
with long grass, red brick or pebble-dashed.

Glass on the street and supermarket
bags on the path, traffic,
conventionality, routine, and teletext.

But his house stood out.
The closest vision of showbiz style
I could see with all I knew being

he grew up near here,
like me, and that must be it,
the very house where

he would live if still in this city.
Creating a myth to myself
that he was allusive but he was inside.

I’d wind down the car window
listening out for the sound of
his songs in the air,

or watch to see if anybody
opened the door, lights of cameras
in the seconds we pass the junction.

Of course, never saw him
on the Thursdays our car passed by
but knew he was very busy.

1

‘Sugar Sugar burning bright.’

I will always associate grapes with you,
after romping at bus stops comme hares,
all in a state of disrepair,
paying the multiracial train fare while
tucking up the driver’s cozy, why trans
portability! Half-lloweens to Macy’s,
the dreamy honk fades into the moon,
behind gun cartridges of a Southern neck hair,
of crooning files in gregarious heads bared,
so to meet you there. Despite the polyester
uniform, the detergent-festered skin – ’twas
‘What an old school *****.” your plump lips
in slightly cracking slant at half-forty-five
to the Jupiter’s Koran. Would it suffice?
My advice – to always dab your cherry stone,
so the taint of whirling frozen-yogurt
aren’t left for me to sip on.

I’d warn you.

None other than yourself who only invite,
through carefully calculated vortices,
coarse premises for me to fall –
within snuffed up ceiling in starry neon,
heroic chameleons in trompe l’oeil foolery,
as if you knew me to write, to be feathered,
simply within an inch of your maple fullness.

I will not.
run /
/ conundrum
formulaic /
/ sweet ***
anthrax /
/ angelic
acquiesce

I'm sick of it all
the typical modern day “love”
just built to fail
like we know what happens next

It's been two months since I last heard from you.
I hate this new age of virtual communication.
We weren't dating but we were
Strangers who knew everything about the other.
I have your words typed and spoken.

Your history of abuse, and mine,
Made the strongest cocktail.
It was my mistake,
The reason it failed
I let you in to explore the real me, Masks aside when
You held me close and tore me open,
All flesh and blood
You left me with words unspoken
A mistake I'll never make again.

Your love and interest in me
has been replaced.
You knew me;
No one knew me like you did
You told me I could be loved;
You gave me a taste
I now believe the lies my brain tells me
I am unlovable, it's true, I fear
Despite the times you said I wasn't
Because if it weren't true,
you'd still be here

I lay here thinking about my life and what I've become
I have no one. I had you. 
I mean nothing to you.
Message received
I hear you, loud and clear
Loud and clear
I will be nothing but a bitter memory soon enough

My diagnosis and the disorders have taken a back seat
I've always wanted to fall in love; But when I did, I didn't realize Sometimes love is a one way street
You've left and now I see no meaning
If there was a God, I suppose he'd know this feeling

Does anything matter?
When we were, everything was depressing but you made it seem better.
Now we aren't, and the depression seems like its ***** old menacing self.
My identity is mine,
Yours is yours
Yet I feel like some part of me has died and has now begun to rot.

Soon the rotten smell will go away.
The memories will fade;
Bones will turn to mud.
When we cease to exist,
It will be as it was;
As if it never were.
Just as you incessantly insist.

If I could muster the courage to ask you for a second chance, I would.
But I used what was left of it;
Bleeding in the tub, where I lay
Eyes open, speakers moaning
- Unlovable by The Smiths