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Timbuctu Oct 2018
you could touch my nose if you wanted
it would dip like a lily pad and
spring up a flower the colour of
the white of a newly-born paper,

ready to squiggle into it any scent
you want to give, to
open up the memories
of stories i told you when we were young, and the grown-ups
were sleeping and it was dark but


you could see my eyes, if you
gave the time, they glimmer frequencies
of ripples in ponds in silent night
when no one's looking,
and stars go backwards, up from the
water,

into the sky


and my lips, you could kiss, perhaps
if you understood how to trace meaning
with a forcelessness
from old heiroglyphics,

they quiver when they meet you
like stepping into speech
testing their pink against your langauge
ending up, full purpose
as a rose
at the bottom of my cheeks
1.3k · Oct 2018
i give you credit
Timbuctu Oct 2018
It starts with you
we wont open with a lie
for the meantime,

it was you (it's you)-  you
passed a bulb to me
stolen straight
from the
middle of a
  
  twilight
       streetlight
(kids play football on a neon green carpet)
  - ends of fingers slightly bent
cat-pads extend
     in unexpected ways

to be attached
to be attached
to be attached
  to my face
I crawl to them     quick
     They play my skin

Like paint that beats in drops of rain
From the spring of our shafted            fountain-head

(lily pads surrounding, and the paving stones I invite you to, laughing to see your eyebrow crook
at all the sun around you)

So:         I've stapled a swing to the moon
just to
Watch, how you watch me and
to  be proud of
        how I
Manipulate, the beaming

Cast shapes of rose, petals, snakes and ballroom
    dances
against the rolling globe beneath us;

(We hover over, our heads together,
Now
Protecting)

a millenia ago I deep myself in pavement mild
the buildings that keep secrets
Of the vistas in rambled office parks
Of a light that turns metallic and bright

to remind us of centuries
to come

When ivy runs the ruins of concert halls
And you and I still walk the steps we made before,
Sombre leaping silver to the sky
tinkling a trail
Of harlequin puppets
      trembling
from our coat tail, sweeping :

with the promise that we will try.


So: another life, we sit on a sofa and smile drinking coffee a cold light outside and a bird on a naked tree, and it has been a year or maybe three, and still we are managing darling, we are doing it, we are still in love, and navigating every moment as if we always will be in and out of everything, all of future ahead of us.
1.1k · Jan 2019
time
Timbuctu Jan 2019
can' - but help it,
have to
words string from fingerprints

did you die when you got the gist, i tried
not to, tied my chin to the world
spinning synonyms beside me

shadowed its corners, filled the
squiggles
of its borders

making a story that
someone would find me,
unearth me

and not to not to ;  
each one of you
to disorder, to fragment me

so sleep softly, if it's only that, child,
if that's all it is, my darling,
forget

the earth sliding gently underneath,
it's forward age
it's backward commotion,

forget the eternal movement that
could wriggle under fingertips

and - Take, no questioning,
this coke, this coke,
this bra, this ring,

take everything
sembling some
form of desire

just not to know,
it's me you really want;

that i really do exist
857 · Nov 2018
Untitled, as ever.
Timbuctu Nov 2018
pick up the papers we left on the ground
did we throw them? seems it now, gleeful in our
careless litter, pretending snow, or
much less pure, or much more bitter

any way , bend over,
tremble the colour of your spine into
the ground, wonder how the world
turned upside down

im angry for you for not coming up
with better reason than simply tearing this
clear snow white and
tidying up

good god stretch your mind
to reach each dusted corner of our speech,
of our streets, underneath
find something hidden there,

spin an ancient christmas light
from the orange beam fluorescent,
burn it among flickers of
ballroom halls
where we dance, slow,

turning locks with our heels in the stained-glass floor,
we know the codes because we stepped them bfore, in
a million lives, the music bounces from our chins to
our thighs,

and we dance with our tongue; with our fingers,
we write with each slight touch, we
find, each, hidden thing

we spring words like flowers from the
cells of our skin,

and give it a word,
that we whisper , giggling
so as to keep hidden, always
the ending
Timbuctu Oct 2019
having to little typing words out
it's all you've got left now, dears

shifting letters down, in quick
  to spaces to  click in to,
to   adjust I
  think to  in this attempt,
i think  to

just, get out the pain
stretch in unblinking
sudden staring space with
barely gasping
pupils wholly

urging in such exercise of
linking spitting veins the
pain out  
from
      just on top, of my heart,
my ache, fat and proud,
elephant feet and rhinoceros teeth
out; and
into my left arm and out and into

what; some pitying object
some breath of smoke clinging at
dust motes in such a way
as to arch itself in slanted
upward eyebrows,

to circle around, cat like, the
tail-end of some
bitter story your mother once wrote,
, beer stenched on
sticking bars

more battered music tinkling
licked vinegar, in flicks of dry
tongue;  licking salt
on scars, in slanted lines,

And folded in her 70s coat
Smoking sadly, singing her
flying nun, camus, detective
collor, lackluss in grey pouting
in pale lips;
Wistful at her failing wish
we see falling from her skin,
in bright-edged ashes:

unfailing romantic if she could
only imagine it was
snow ; but

she lights the finish again,
as if there's somthing left
strikes the back of
a Juke box swishing neon against
the back of her ***

leaning, boogy, jumping kitsch
in which her temprement relents
against;; and the fact

That she never was always  never a teenager
And will never be again  
and could be so serious without ever meaning
nothing    so here, or laughing

I open up her future in
a window behind her back;
and paint a daughter's imagination
in the cracks of

a stucco frame,
and it wills itself into the tiniest bees
buzzing dialogue and *** and adventure and queens
dancing on shivering arcs
on gossamer leaves;

and with gossamer words come
spiderweb courage; and
the force to walk out from the
pub, and out and farther out, and

over bridges and hopscotching trolls,
and through the desert, clipping roses with
her nail;
and across sun drenched plains, and
we find her sun-skinned loves
into, fast-shut white blinds and
chipped moasaic flower pots;

in spanish air kicking dress in red and
fingered frills;
flashing up in dazzling mirror-move
of kicking glittering cement in
heels beating rythm in city streets

i give her all she never had, i stretch us out, through
country, loving, code, and time;

and still this ache, though where'd it go
my throat and the back of my chest

a stain, a corner of
the sticking dust of a 70s pub,
no honey, no bees, no flowerpots,
time travel, or poetry can clean.
829 · Dec 2018
simply kiss me
Timbuctu Dec 2018
faced against me,
i tend to make mirrors to assuage
the distinction --
glass is slippery,
and light shines bright

just too bright to
bridge the difference, the water
underneath
the bridge that spans worlds, it hops
mermaids, who hiss and writhe and flay
their (tenacious) tails in / half hope
half misery,


that one day they'll meet that land
on the other side, glittring because

the splashes we create spin tear drops into
kaleidescopes, and my god, my darling,
the colours they create - - a rainbow
dashed across a sunny stormy sky


only not to realise
if ever we were to meet it
each side of the bridge
is forever, the same
778 · Jan 2019
depression :)
Timbuctu Jan 2019
silence hits again, you're
with me in a sense because
you kissed me (recently)
and i felt the soft dimpled wrinkles
of your lips, even through
all the time,
all the distance

and i escape the void,
sideways slanting as my toes
shatter against the footprints in
damp, in sparkling cement
that i'm sure you left for me
there
, i'm sure
they were there, imprinted

in the same pattern your tongue waggles
in the same dance your knees wobble

when they remind me of the sidesteps
we swipe in the future,
dangling eachother's pasts
through the nighttime daisies

glancing moonlight into tiny petals
so they're glowing;,
wiping our grins onto bobbing faces
of middle-class houses
who's once stubborn stark windows
suddenly start winking

skipping fruitful until dawn, and finding,
in the grey summer waking light,
a small raspberry in the brambles
the side of the road

and remembering we do have favourites,
and remembembering that everything

even silence
can be home again

and that everything, will be alright
747 · Oct 2019
hello darlings
Timbuctu Oct 2019
what to do with the ones
who shudder gladly into multiplicity
but cannot bear to stand
without
the solid hand of an other

after
being lifted from their own
lands of cloud
(we were gods there, we remember) ;
in glancing brightness shafts above
trendy canals worth nothing without

the sky playing with bland echoes
of batting lashes, nudging peach skin knees
a gasp here, and a crooked smile become
in us, there
swirls of grey batting the sun with orifice
darkness and

we are, sudden, feet on the ground
dancing between shoes some good oney
a - peice
shining dark blue and laces that could be tied
just right; and trip on us, when we
don't agree with the rythm just right and

and we realise we wear marroon dark heels
just to reach a little up and
distinguish the batting of the blue sky we  :

we remember ;; to compare with
a solid grown hand, with other magic in his fingers;
veins always pumping, lifting, solidly
extrapolating;

and so we exert simple bullets knocked down
speech;
with soft lips, soft hips,
we, steep in the negation of the wood, you
offer,
(we remember woods of bluebells, myths hovering in
dust disappearing into a backgroud of evergreen)
and we take petite steps, and we petite feet,

and speak these -  we love you:
and it's true, but, you know
we won't forget the realm of clouds  ;
(we lifted your knickers, darling,
            and laughed
solumn songs of sublimity,  
there
746 · Mar 2019
magic trick
Timbuctu Mar 2019
keep me with you;
remember how my heart sounded
when we lay together,  a blue light
trembling between us, as i looked from your eyes
to the night out the window, and the grey clouds
gathering themselves swiftly
across the deepening sky, balancing a
yellow star, that seemed to swell,
with our lifing skin, breathing
the other's wonder

at something beginning,

stay with me;
keep in the tangled chords of our minds
the music of a ruptured kiss,
of the violence of our chests pressed
not knowing how to know the other entirely
and weeping at each moment we missed

bring me home; tempt me into engagement
touch each scar on me as i
tell you i cant tell you how much
your privacy means to me

smell you on me
how your fingerprints
mapped a future together, and how i
cant undecipher, the language
you gave to me

trust me
i love you
even knowing
you're leaving me
689 · Apr 2019
provencial
Timbuctu Apr 2019
And what if your clipped nails meant nothing so
Much as your fear for not looking a the pavement
Beaming petals into the grey medium between us

And what if you knew that your yellow pants
Your hands inserted halfway inside of them
Missed for insecurity the breeze that could figure
Its way between them

And create a ****** that sounds like the
First rain in autumn, or your grandmas resentment
Mingled with the twinging pain of love
Her insistent love for you, little boy

Little boy with the yellow pants,
That could be yellow leaves
That could crinkle like a smile that
Finds irony in point, in every
Green and flashing cross
Timbuctu Jan 2019
and if i stayed hidden
and if it meant a world to me
anyway with my light i can see:

in your slow steps, in the
quick that you try to disable,
the lines of your face, your
dragging elbows

each crinkle tells me, as you stand
underneath me
how you love, and discern,
how you smell the poetry of
carpet squiggles

your skin already; marks the
way you stand on tip toes, if some one
asks you -- with joy, relief
with questioning grief

and if it's so much the last;
you cant stand enough to touch

i'll laugh; *
and all my little
dotted rays, will reach you

and your elbows will start dancing beside you
and finally you'll see
each part of you is full of joy
each ; and you
can; i imagine
         have release
569 · Oct 2019
into ever green (edited)
Timbuctu Oct 2019
what to do with the ones
who, glanced at the right speed we
see them, shudder gladly into multiplicity
but cannot bear to stand in any

act of publicity;
  without the knowing gesture of
the solid hand of
  an other, after

being lifted from their own
lands of cloud

(we were gods there, we remember) ;
in shafts giving golden to
trendy canals worth nothing without

the sky playing lifting each bland echoe
of batting lashes,
nudging peach skin knees a gasp here


a crooked smile pasted
on a passing wall of the morning walk
make

in us,      there
licks of grey batting the sun with orifice
darkness and, and blinding whiteness
of the vast tilting gameboard
leaning into us, breaching when

we are, sudden, feet on the ground
dancing between shoes some good-money
a - peice
shining dark blue varnish and laces that could
be tied
just right; and trip on us, when we
don't agree with the rythm just right
(we were dancing slight along
hidden angles, checkered,
that even with suggestions, a
soft heel pressing your vulnerablity,
you, still, would never remember.)

and we look down to see
we wear marroon dark heels
just to reach a little high and
distinguish the length of the blue sky we  

with
this solid grown hand, of yours,
with an other magic in his fingers;
veins pulling, streaming, lifting, solidly;
extrapolating;

and so we exert simple bullets knocked down
speech; in feigned purple light,
with soft lips, soft hips,
we, steep into a negation of the wood, you
offer, gliding the lacquer,
(we remember woods of bluebells, of myths
hovering their shapes in dust
laughing disappearing into a backgroud of ever-green)
and we take petite steps, and we petite feet,

and speak these -  we love you:
and you know,  it's true,    and you know

we won't forget the kingdom of clouds  ;
(we lifted your knickers, darling,
            and laughed
solumn songs of sublimity,  
        there
Timbuctu Jan 2019
calm down a tad
who taught you to write like that

who told you to swallow each sensation and
corrupt it gently , in a cataclysm
of shoulder-nudging clichés

when did you find that you could spill
your hearth grown heart onto
blank distilled computer
screens,

and turn them golden, turn them
into the grass you wean
with your ever gentle,
ever purposeful footprints,

and as you loook behind you, one time
maybe (i grant you, i belive you)
will find, a tree sprung up

that looks just like your mind.

and all of us will come and play
spring your strong branches,
bounce each side of the
leaves like
pillows, except this time

the side more lied,
reminds us
of bonfire nights,
and the other, fresh, of broken twigs
in winter,

and there's no need,
except for fun,
to turn aside
Timbuctu May 2020
i want a promise of sunlight before i leave i
never wanted something so much as a picnic with any of you
and why is it the mussels i carry in the crook of my arm,
we keep in plastic bins with
rice and spice
not enough for you

the years we sat together
on a park bench eating:
watching the clouds flash against the sky
in colours of pigeons and the taste of
the way the
one
follows
the other

and breathe against me please
write your newspaper and coffee
against the curls of my toes that stretch into
our bedsheets

how easy it would be in my mind with toast
and butter
and alarm clocks toning into morning light
and your arm never leaving the back of the hairs on my
tilting side

not so much leaning
you understood; but an intention towards
making shapes of what you'd
expect, in your head,
when it changed

just enough for the force
of you to taste
the
blossoms blooming the
corner of my lips:

that you'd never have found; had i stayed; straight on

who'd ever have thought, there was never a problem
except of that of admitting
how much one was so loved by the other?
511 · Jan 2019
ownership and negotiation
Timbuctu Jan 2019
things that belong to me:

him
his skin because it tastes like
orange grey light when the sky breaks at almost
twilight, and day winks in between;

and i see it

his tongue, because it sparks like
midnight almost morning stars,
blinking a world that escapes light blue
behind black velvet,
lifting soflty against the top of my
slightly sinking teeth

his knees because they hobble sideways
like the sidestreets, of my childhood,
before i learned to walk with a lilt
and instead collected earwigs, and thought
they curled,
a lot like me

his heels, when i feel them on my cheek,
the lines on his forehead when
he turns them into words
to stretch and dismantle the
inbetween i place in front of him

because he didnt know yet, he was mine,
had been mine, simply

because i
asked him
  to be
342 · Jan 2019
a dawn kissed wish
Timbuctu Jan 2019
i ask to start with a command,
squiggling myself off the damp
night-stained blue cement,

was it **** or ecstacy
i drenched myself in, as i
stood up kissing your knees
and every part of your skin

was it you i saw, when i was
finally high enough to look
level enough in your eyes

the light had changed, dawn  
grinned a leap into the heart of me
i saw how you'd been stooping
your wrinkles, your chagrin

and we kissed
and finally, after all
you did bend
to ask to spend your life

with me
Timbuctu Dec 2019
The gold from dark-autumn
lamp-lit leaves
dripped on your head and you beamed

because you could catch
between your thumb and
that finger that
points your pad at
spitfire wishes
falling bellow
hollow moon

and pinch between
and mould and lick
each form of each of
the words that we said

and the moon moved its fingers
through the back branches of my happy hair
and my nose blew a cold, rosy smile

because i could feel your knees were planted on mine:i could feel how your heels dug soft and deep and stubborn and mild in my ground underneath and that the differences of our skin made only the
point of a glistening
pin
separating
heaven &
earth
Timbuctu Feb 2
i hide from you because you're prettiest in starlight
so i starve the day away in running from what might
have been made had i not leaned so far on the fur-bristled
fancy that i'd always see you best by being sat tilted back
on the triangles singing glitter webbed in crossword shadows

in midsummer hedges which line like silver-pillow piping the highlighter patches in a softly throbbing england leveraging
under utter comfort the lambulbs dickens left hidden in a ticking golden glow, laughing

but you don't see me, too easily i slip into some silky something that screens my skin in black obscurity, so i run halfway across the world and line ivy leaves instead  with a shuddering golden lining, coughing blue-brick city smoke with the glow from weeping bathroom windows; framed in smooth plastic beams set

and maladjusted, we love them for the solitary light they send into crowded streets breathing breaks of summertime glass
tripping mirrors like disco ***** from their lips, shaped against their face exactly how they is, how they would be, had we forgot
they got a look that hits from the street striking love like naked

dew in glass bubbles resting still and cold by consistent and indented belly buttons who heave and hollow in blind hesitation beneath a wobbling shower curtain from which she steps
in making theatre, aware of how her hips move thorough
but just as if, had she been certain of someone watching

she'd never have the force to break dimensions
in that way -- I would have been a wardrobe, varnished and clunking degrees of spirals ornate, collecting the ticks of English countryside clockwork within me, filling the grooves that miss
with tufts of old carpets patterned with humdrum hope

that one day they would fly; or, an added bit of mechanics
fattening up the edges inclining on the cold of space
which shimmers along in what was serious and sharp, coating the inside of such golden lock; left open - we're shocked, wardrobes
in old houses were meant to be secret, but honest - you just gotta

try it (like when at five we fingered a skeleton leaf, and realised
the world is whatever we might say it is,) and all of winter's there
inside; hidden; bright, the taste of dawn before it comes, its skin pink and blue and shakes fresh and frosted landscape on barely risen peaks, points misted and freckled and running in time

to make a song into history that beats like heels on concrete or
the mark of birds pinning themselves against an autumn glaze-glassed sky - I'll trust you find the key and the snow'll be pressed clean just enough for you to leave your footprints in it, that, or i'll turn it into the felt of the inside of the jewellery boxes

that huddle in the back of me beneath shoulder pads and jigsaw puzzles and lace eaten ruffles and all the other reality; the ends
of trouser bottoms, and an irrepressibly dead silver moth - that ladybird who had peed on my hand who how dare she be so magic and have excrement just like me? - so I copy her spots

and pull a dress from the hanger just like the tablecloth smelling faintly of cat dust and sunlight and your mother into whose polka dot holes you'd imagine dropping, and, disappearing, and then,
waiting, for someone who can tell that this piece of glitter in your eye is just a sign for how your heart breaks every time you see

a drop of rain shaped like a diamond, because, you know
there's a dragon inside - and darling, I know, you just want to fly
234 · Feb 2
SY
Timbuctu Feb 2
SY
See You

By the time i told you I had given it to you already

In the form of tiny stars making patterns
Of spots
on the backs, the front;
the thicks of your thighs

You mustnt have had to move your fingers
In the shape of slight swiping
In the space leaning sideways  between

, but of course you would and
/of course the leaning makes the space;
moves it
into the balance of a window
With streetlights and rain

and the front of u against the back
of mine/
Promises that leave a gap
like the
Clinical white of bathroom cabinets.

God, to accidentally
trip-up
Against the symbols he gave us
as he was mumbling spinach in the roots of his teeth

& to test the trips of washing
machines, how our shoulders would
bounce
against metal
and a trembling view of the sneaking outside

that would waver,
that would send these Moments the smell of tulips
And damp and
marijuana, & short stone walls,
& the cold of my fingers
when i trade my hand for yours:

And i would look back at you with shears of thunder
-- would whisp the underneath
Of the small of my back
Into sharp grey clouds
(speaking sunlight)
On a background of secret & glowing white roses.

(we'd have each painted them red
You know
Had it not been for these small interruptions
we made

in time, and space)
Timbuctu Sep 2020
It starts with you
(we dont begin with a lie,
at least)

passing a bulb stolen straight
from the middle of a
  
  twilight
       streetlight
(kids play football on a neon green carpet)
  
lily-lilting fingers slightly bent
cat-pads bristle and extend towards
to be attached
to be attached
to be attached
  to my face
I crawl at them, quick
     they play my skin

like paint that beats in drops of rain
From the spring of our shafted fountain-head

(lily pads surrounding, and the paving stones I invite you to, laughing to see your eyebrow crook
at all the sun around you)

and in the time it takes to think of a response
i've stapled a swing to the moon
just to
watch, how you watch me and
   be proud of
        how I
manipulate, the beaming

casting shapes from my shadows in rose and opals,
and ***, snakes and ballroom
    dances
on the rolling globe beneath us;

(We hover over, our heads together,
Now
Protecting)

a millenia ago I deep myself in pavement mild
the buildings that keep secrets
of the vistas in rambled office parks
of a light that turns metallic and bright

to remind us of when to come

when ivy runs the ruins of concert halls
and you and I still walk the steps we made before
sombre leaping silver to the sky
tinkling a trail
of harlequin puppets
      trembling
from our coat tail, sweeping :

with the promise that we will try.

So: another life, we sit on a sofa and smile drinking coffee a cold light outside and a bird on a naked tree, and it has been a year or maybe three, and still we are managing darling, we are doing it, we are still in love, and navigating every moment as if we always will be in and out of everything.
159 · Mar 23
No New Stuff
Timbuctu Mar 23
well now what do we write
After making places made to pout, allowed,

allowed
and pushing head against this only tiny worried forehead
only tiny creased
forming shapes of hearts by the curves of our lined fingertips
where i can tell
that you are made of turns of football fields
or strings of rounded yellow lights turned to
sticking; licked-off sugar peas,
Or with these shapes of coloured blocks of wood
Where You want to make a castle
before you turn 26-
-

(or you thought you were twenty,love,but couldn't even count that high -- )
And rivers pushing tufts of grass nearby,
To vague lines of horizon
covering out up on your little-boy mind
like the magic of worms who: - grow! back together
listing spells of crows croaking biting
beneath dark and spangling telephone wire.
How can i know that

how can i kiss you directly
against the
slightly dented texture of your
wide and warming heart?
155 · Jan 2020
Untitled
Timbuctu Jan 2020
where'd my wildness go?
some small boy stored it in a pebble
- and skipped it across cloud-rages seas
- and it swum its drenching, heavy powers
its arms that sung strong of sun-swarmed glitter
until, sudden blunt, it sunk

count me the daisies i lace across my chest  
Look closely see them
spinning in
Gradiated teeth; nuts and bolts, and
         clattering:
    
I made points in white and yellow i
     painted them
Carefully bent
to imprint justly into the notices
you handed to me
    rumbling through ticket- gates
   your Badge shining,
  grinning, cheshire cats leaping at my
oh colourful attempt to mirror him...

(the colours change quick like the sky like the sky now’s got grey tinged on it, and the yellow; the yellows got stains like spikey chestnuts dropping unmanneringly and leafs of spring copying patterns from the gaps between my fingers when i type:)

count me the petals i
Plucked   nails flat and bitten-off
(tiny pins clinkling)
in so much Destruction  
             balancing on
        this question of love

Come-on People     ---      taste the autumn breath grey-golden
i sat on a london bench   i
  fed bread to a pigeon
    i drowned myself
in gutters in the  speech that fell in

clutter and
truckstops
beside me   (sand and sand and waving horizon    do you see do you see the hieroglyphs of heat ---  do you swim in them?)

in strawberries and yellow grass    the middle end of summertime
Light beams across my arms can you      breathe them
Can you catch your breath in the
balloons we fill your
cheeks and    
                      you lose you above the clouds one day and
                     All i did was gentle on your cheek and
                                            pop and pop
My sister was chubby once
        (yes shut up i know its too cute;  and later
                   she was wasted you did not even see her
She    disappeared in the
herd of
          all the other girls )
  
But had
sat
  next to me
Our seatbelts on ; proper and hot   and as teenage, we fed music to     each
other
Never - hesitant enough to make anything    

      Matter

But one day, later again, later,   i

Feel,     finally
the tangible edge
of all the stars around us, eager, who
spin us round a maypole round a carousel-pole
           i charge at you on my unicorn weilding a flag of leftover
                    ribbons and half-eaten candy apples
    willing the ****
out of
you to
ex-ist

one day i'll knit me together and
you'll see me a cloud full
enough to walk right on top of, your head
tingling with the
bottom right points of
all the stars that
made me
Timbuctu Apr 2020
Only by knowing we had it right
from the start
could our hearts take the shape
of the shafts of golden light we made by
bouncing head-first
into the center of those sunflowers


i saw through flashing windows
on a train while the sky was breaking


On a hard summer’s day,
Where pick-up artists showed
their cards, grinning
knowing their art was never
so far from clowns; from  trapeze artists, swinging from
and there it is)- a whole circus tent, waving
red
(among
acres of turning yellow

I’ve loved each one of you for all the same,
all different reasons
and it was not so diffcult,
in the end

the dust motes of your jeans
i rest my head against buying into
the smells of memories of collisions

And I stepped down an aisle with me
and you writing stories of our future
on the soles of my shoes:
the familar march, the dance i perfected
of jumping just ahead of what
might be said

Balancing ontop of my steaming train
The white of my dress leaning against
the swirling ***** grey
stealing its colours from the
neverending sky;
Trailing through the windswept hall

Time leaving pictures on the wall
Of silhouettes, our heads, profiles
moving slightly into smiling all
the images we stopped to forget,

simply again; it was only that i loved you more
138 · Nov 2020
van in
Timbuctu Nov 2020
well now what do we write
After making places made to pout, allowed,

allowed
and pushing head against this only tiny worried forehead
only tiny creased
forming shapes of hearts by the curves of our lined fingertips
where i can tell
that you are made of turns of football fields
or strings of rounded yellow lights turned to
sticking; licked-off sugar peas,
Or with these shapes of coloured blocks of wood
Where You want to make a castle
before you turn 26-
-

(or you thought you were twenty,love,but couldn't even count that high -- )
And rivers pushing tufts of grass nearby,
To vague lines of horizon
covering out up on your little-boy mind
like the magic of worms who: - grow! back together
listing spells of crows croaking biting
beneath dark and spangling telephone wire.
How can i know that

how can i kiss you directly
against the
slightly dented texture of your
wide and warming heart?
Timbuctu Jun 2020
i hide from you because you look prettiest in starlight
and i see you best from the

triangles who sit on the tips of
shadows in the
midsummer hedgerows
on the backside of england

but, you
didnt see me, so
i line ivy leaves with the glow
of squares of bathroom windows,



(we love them for light they
gave, inside
breathing breaks of
summertime glass; tripping mirrors
from their lips
shaped against their face
exactly how they is :



we Forget
they got a look that
hits
from the street
striking naked, breaths of humidity :
(behind condensation she steps out
of a shower :
aware of how her hips move
thorough : making
theatre just in case
(but
just as if she was certain
of someone's watching, she'd never have
the Force to break dimensions
in that way -- )
honestly



-anyway,



I might have been a wardrobe
sturdy, clunking
degrees of
spirals ornate;
collecting ticks from clockwork
each of the gears that
just - might miss
an - (added bit)
of mechanics fattening up
the edges inclining
on the
cold of space



the lock left open
(surprising
we're shocked -



it looks so secret
but honest- -
you just gotta try it )



{i lie you know
we always did,
since we were five
and fingered a skeleton leaf,
and realised the world is
whatever one might say it is :

i lied of course
you've gotta find the key
one chance among
too many
too many that if you thought
of the possibility you'd go blind,
and for once, darling
you'd see everything}



but open
for you, for anyone,
to clamber into
all the way into
the inside of me



&
all of winter's
there
(hidden,
bright :



you forget the taste of dawn before it comes,
and her skin, the colour of clouds, pink
and blue and
shakes fresh and
frosted landscape
on barely risen peaks, points misted freckled and
running in time to
form all our history given -



(it's ancient and it's song just sounds like the mark
of birds pinning themselves against an autumn sky)



i'll keep it for you i'll find it or turn it into
the felt of the inside of the
jewelry boxes that live
huddled in
the back of me



beneath shoulder pads and
jigsaw puzzles and
lace eaten ruffles and
the ends of trouser-bottoms



and a silver moth and
one ladybird who (PEED on my hand)



;how dare it be so magic;
and // have excrement
just like me - ?



we place a notecard
of solid stubborn wonder
flipping memory
placed over
placed over
it


to keep all the time from
becoming disgusted] --



so i copy her spots and
pull a dress
from a hanger,
just especially
because i saw in a story book
that when you was a child your mum
had a tablecloth
smelling faintly of cat dust
and sunlight
and you imagined disappearing right into the black of its polka dot
holes



and maybe i plant a hat (like a lampost)
that covers half your
face



(keep that side
for the special ones,
the ones who tell
that
piece of glitter
on your eye
can know
that your heart breaks every time
there's drop of diamond
shaped like rain
because, for you
there's a dragon inside



and darling --- we all know,
you just want to fly.



(we might crash into a mountain, it might hurt, we might fall all the way down; dont worry, there's snow at the bottom:



and if we ever need her, a woman who hides in
reflection of light from a pool like a mirror
like
a window



cast on the sides of caves
down in
the mountain; and



sometimes, for special reasons, she comes outside.)
121 · Aug 2020
Untitled
Timbuctu Aug 2020
i'm running out of the time that was a moment ago interminable, endless, again
i saw you sitting in a white tiled gray-scale waiting dock in
the corner of the middle of where all the mustard-coloured
bus lines-line up
91 · Aug 2020
phphphh
Timbuctu Aug 2020
i had followed you so far
that we began to find groups
of words like
clusters of trees; growing bright
and full of
upturned lights
with the spaces in between as well
that get into branches, blank,
cutting out peices from
children's white;

(before they felt the time,
    worrying
about being right)

here, our footprints secrete
star-spangled leaves on purple night
pavement

and reflect in increasing spirals
the distant lights
of office building Windows who
speak their sterile, asking insides in
slight proud, and slight
welcoming
peices of : life :

what life really is

people on phones and skirts and and scratching foreheads, and scratching paper, and offering jokes like slightly drowning lotus flowers, and flirting; and when Christmas smells like paper clips;
all the things we would feel on the sides
of our bodies like slow sliding warmth
dipping orange,
as we walked around outside of them

making some new paths, taking, the light
they gave and creating, we think,
some sparkling land in insurrection;;

but got confused as to who
was following who eventually; when
the helter skelter goes down forever
we lost the top
spinning
and
with enough stepping back over footprints
in the snow: to hide the way we go
 
remember it snowed that one day when we lied together; and we were so in love i hardly had to look out the window; paris could have been covered in tiny breaking pools of reflecting light, and it wouldn't have mattered; because your arm had its weight
embedded on mine
but:
leaves get crumbled if you, stamp on them enough
[we shouted at humpty dumpty right before he tipped his
fall { because
some thing inside us still believed in beauty }:
that testing breakability, has a tendency to
**** things
up]
 
but we were too late, his mouth in an O of surprise as gravity
did it's thing
[it always does no matter how many times you
dreamt that
we could
fly]
; & so too eating up
the breadcrumbs that turned out;
in the end;
were of limited resource
 
and the spaces emerging magic from clusters of tree/words
were sunk again into the coded nets they
'd been in the beginning
[precisely; with intent, my dear with as little
expense towards ambiguity as they can
possibly
measure]
 
this memory necessary in all these humans
picked like pods screaming that it's
against their nature
 
intrinsic to the half forgotten instincts
cultivated and esteemed and afforded and
carried through
and blamed and stimied
consistently :
 
that one must never be crazy enough
to believe that one's art would
ever really
be reality
64 · Aug 2020
texas
Timbuctu Aug 2020
I fell in love for the first time in Texas, one of the most dangerous places in the world. Minds are blank and solid; bodies are fat and languid.

Where the the skies make clouds make beasts with big walrus teeth, heavy and grey and jaws too big; and yellow grass that meets rainbows who undulate, and the pavement behind it (oh consistently pavement, raining pavement) and stained sometimes with new rain right after it got hot for the first time and the smell is like planting your knees in wet soil; when there is a breeze in the autumn that just lifts up the hair on your knees, in the sun, and wildflowers line each truckstop street; the very first streets where I made myself see a Mondrian tree.

I had a boyfriend in Texas.
vv
I could lift the faces of people off their heads like fossils from sand, could turn them around and figure with my finger every fraction of them of their smile of their grimace, turn each one upside down. I began to wonder if a person could be too happy, too happy, if there was a limit and  remembered, maybe, a person could go crazy - and wondered, why not?

I could feel the points of a star meeting at the ends of my limbs; I could feel a depth like a lily pad, boeing my bottom. I placated no one  -- except him, of course, over and over.

I met david stalking through the aisles of a shop, one day when I was a shopgirl and had yellow hair in curls, and fleshy arms, and an *** like a pillow under a turquoise skirt. He wears shorts and looks like a dork, walks short and slightly hunched, and he doesn’t look in your eyes, and you could think it was from shyness --  until he does look, and they’re so bright, you could tilt into going blind. (He’s averse to the image of all the people toppling over around him.) He has golden hair on his arms and sturdy wrists built by elegant, competent lines, pointing its hands into indicating something of art, maybe, or deeper than that, or this.

            “Hey”

    “Is for horses”

    He tells me, seriousness straightening his brow.

— The End —