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Tom McCone Aug 2015
sometimes unsure just where the
            world spun: sharpness of
                    hour's turn, cardinal
direction. we found footsteps on
coasts, in leaf-litter, amongst
carpet fibre. our collective history
       in flecks; discretised, normal.
ain't so strange, windowlit dust's
      width your warmth felt, even
at metric distance. we were once
but a single heartbeat across:
    wavelet, hangin' in the wash.

   i want to fall asleep in
covers of snow, you and i
as tangled pile of bones. i want
our echoes intertwined in all
great halls. or
just
   one
          slow morning,
                       fog or no fog.

                                                       the world will spin under dark blankets
                                                             for all of our evers, at least. tumble n
                                                                                                                      fade.
miss you (often)

"and for a change in thought,
i look up at the moon
and don't quite know what i see"
Tom McCone Aug 2015
light, you trickle through
my life; bursts of
blooms from all angles.
leaves sit still on
the sky. right pause. waiting
up for
a bit later, each
movement. daydreams
of topologies of sun
patches on your skin.
closer, love, i am
walking, in, through the
columns of this theater.
no actor in the hallway,
just your light, around
corners.

just your soft waves,
lapping.
fallasleep
Tom McCone Jul 2015
swam placid through last night, or today, or is it all the same and continual? anyway, i found myself curled up in a lounge, alone, by a great fire. small, hidden beast i, frozen-still stars floating through, wondrous lopsided flesh against the ground; cradling tiny empty warmth, just where i wanted you. & smile. thunder through birdcries through dawn. wanderlust aching me out to the waves, threshing and soft, held at the hand of heavyset horizon. & think about miles. & fake smile. sometimes, our own oceans get rough. i'm so proud of you, though, keeping afloat. got home and muesli and songs and coffee and trees and ah. breathe. set utterances on the seabreeze. sent north n' west.
knots weave fine cycles in my head, like time around treestems. drifts of ocean mist, over inlet ridgeline, roar silent swells over the day. slow procession. slept enough for the both of us, trying to find you, immersed in soft clouds; dulled and fantastical. everything brims on the edge of everything else. a couple sparks away, in a small town somewhere, raining half the time, caught up, tangled in songs & sunsets. smiling gently into the light. i'll call it dawn, sooner or later, but still imagine your radiance, in stead.
bleary eyes and tiresome channels of blood but, small circling sparrow on the horizon, light through leaves, rivulets of smile bleeding up my cheek.
time's strange hands curl round and tie cycles; here, i was but a small chip in the woodwork. some little sharp snag life'd carved out, to grasp nothin' but air. but, somehow, the same air takes on resonance within the hum of my chest, tubelamps ever aflicker, and im sat staring, dead on, into the firm couch-material, trying to calculate the speed of sound from you to i. 'cause i swear i heard the impression of soft lips inch up next to my frozen ears, and in breath let wash warm reprieve, up and over me, and yes i am sad and terrified you too will fall into aches (which is explanatory for my perhaps often with-held-ness) and fold, just as terrified, away. never disallow one self's happiness, though. regardless if the meaning to it seems absent. just learn how yr smile works. and i hope i'm a crease, like sometimes you are the light pouring from my eyes. folding away. sometimes, you are, too, a smile brewing in the corners of my lids.
dreams form light clusters around my weary head. felt really strange today. inexplicable sadness, in the most beautiful things. saw you in people. little parts of you, everywhere, in voices and eyes. enough to fill me to the brim of connectedness. all these effervescent bubbles, so close to shimmering enough to be you, but never, ever you. much as i wish so. would if i had changed time, today or ten years. fabricate this daydream, i now weave slow on settling fingertips. the shock and sting of knowledge. your eyes. sweet smile. and the acres we've still got to pad through, stifling breath floes, changing stories at the tip of the stem. soft touch as dawn breaks. ghost, i know.
Tom McCone Jul 2015
breath, turned out upon a
closed little world, can
dance and maybe some
thing i've known forever is
dawning
and/or has dawned, upon
my churning little world:

left in dust, sleeping for
a majority of the season,
some
days little more than
manifestation of the
meaninglessness of
life. monolithic guilt.
ever-full of empty.

but, others, i see you
in everything, dripping from
facets (have i said this before?
is this nothing new? i hope so),
see your eyes in strangers, not
so bright, but looming, still;
heave breath and smile and
know, somehow, we've been
tied together in this mess, and
that maybe life isn't devoid
of reason, or that it may still
be, and it doesn't matter.
won't you step into the light, that i could make you out
Tom McCone Jul 2015
my insides reel, as typical as could stay. only in slow coils, though. only in long sighs. still breathing, twinge of sad, but i saw your light in the sun. found peacefulness in moments between. gratitudes, to a world that somehow strung us up& out to turn to dust. and here i stand, slowly coiling into little little little happy dust. is that so strange. can't tell. don't mind.
where there's light
Tom McCone Jul 2015
under the frigid sky i
slow& wonder; somehow
gather hope. pass under
bridges. feel the same, et
cetera- the same, always.(
sometimes, there's no storm.
or, at least, as far as an eye can see.
)sometimes, we get hollow. if i
am, i am
happy& hollow, with you,
though.
                   know this, always.

green and gold were the days i
spent learning the architecture
of your smile. the hues still colour
these afternoons in abstract: small
patterns in the woodwork. an
accumulated sunbeam, late
morning.

continue, sing songs. breathe
most of the time.
someone once
wrote:
               "life is but a joke if
you make it through laughing"
little sigh
Tom McCone Jul 2015
finally, i saw space in your eyes,
believin' something unnerving;
sent to lie, cold,
at vague degrees of separation.

i smile back at you,
or, at least, the shadow now
gone, along with your light:
meaning& memory
seep in monochome, sterile.
what, once, was the irreparable
i, sans toi?
the glisten of distant houses on the hill?
the ebb& swell, of the wash of our scenes?

sent spinning static tones:
keep slippin' down. keep changing.
keep the sun & stars.
keep heart.
{some things spill out}
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