The autumn light is dimming me,
the gray between feet and sky
showers you with melancholy,
plucking orange and red from skeleton branches,
kicking through the decay on the concrete,
brings a fleeting smile,
the kiss of the air, welcome
and tightening the skin.

It’s time to go dark,
time to stare out at the gray,
carve out a space to wait,
to blend into shadow and sweat nothing,
to realise that you are this and this is all,
the being in a room, in a house, on a street,
in a town, on the edge of the sea,
heaving with the tide,
wishing to be swept away,
while watching TV for dinner.

Let us away, the locals would grin,
as they finished their drinks,
pulling on coats and each other as the pub vomits them onto the street,
their stroll home was short and forgotten,
the hefty one is planning to **** his wife,
a steak knife tucked into his belt,
handle wrapped with tape to avoid fingerprint telltales,
and yet,
tomorrow, tomorrow,
will be the same.

Imprudence my dear boy says the doctor.
Imprudence.
Irishman, your time to leave Colombia is nearly here says the soldier.
Time to leave.
My ***** are squirming as the speedboat thumps along the river.
Imprudence.
The penicillin is not working and just one more jab left.
Time to leave.
The dogs barking at the bushes drew our attention, the soldiers emerged and left without a word.
Imprudence.
We danced for the rest of the night, the whole village down to the last man.
Time to leave.
I held my palm to the cheek of a wrinkled man, and he held mine.
Imprudence.
The patrols and the plantations warned us that we were not welcome.
Time to leave.
We hiked for two days, by motorbike, on foot, and bus, our supplies swinging on a donkey.
Imprudence.
The foreigner fell in the swamp, emerging with a half baked face of minstrel mud swearing.
Time to go.
One of them is going to find out, and which of them gave it to me?
Imprudence.
One of them is going to find out and, which of them gave it to me?
Time to go.
The Rio Magdalena hurls trees down its overflowing width, we cannot travel at night.
Imprudence.
But the paramilitary village is unsafe overnight, it's risky.
Time to go.
We get into the boat, at night.
Imprudence.
No life jackets.
Time to go.
In the morning, we drink beers.
Imprudence.
Ready to move again.
Time to go.

There is nothing as lovely as watching clouds rolling across mountain tops,
licking them with their glorious wet lips,
sumptuously sliding along the ridge,
or nestling half way down the neckline of a mountain range,
I evaporate days watching the water cycle spinning before me,
squeezing itself over the tallest peaks,
before flushing down the slopes towards us,
a hurtling, ecstatic shower of pleasure,
turning the tap on.

And, that is not all, I can enjoy the mist rising from summer heat tarmac,
caressing my toes, pulling me forwards and down,
marvel at the whirl of the flush,
and drop stone after stone into a heaving lake.

So, now you know,
get yourself immediately to a window or room with a view,
into a cable car or a glade,
the basket of a hot air balloon,
and be drawn into the mist,
feel it tickle your skin,
wriggling its fingers under your shirt,
thrilling the back of your neck,
and, if you are lucky, playfully plunging its moist tender tongue into your right ear,
like the glaciers, your time has come to melt.

she rocketed through the house,
gurgling, grinning, groping,
a woman unleashed in the shell of a child,
knickers, legs, chest, fingers,
thunderbolting into the fridge,
harvesting pleasures,
strawberries, mango, pistachios,
dance blasting to japanese cute pop,
lyrics unknown,
but dutifully replicated with intent,
the teeth of the shewolf unbrushed,
hair sailing into orbit,
shorts in the rain,
t-shirt in the snow,
the oven in her chest, bakes me alive.

Taste it, wake from your sleep,
there is a bullet wound in your mattress,
nothing like a nosebleed to humble the greatest,
nothing like a shock to the cartilage to shake the least of us,
nothing like a slap to the face to
smother your plans for the day.

Join the flow,
swim amongst the platelets,
trickle down chins and stain silks,
harden and clot in bruises on the floor,
dab at stains with a blemished cloth,
wipe them away,
wipe thousands away,
clean up the 0 positives, the As, the Bs,
erase the negatives, the rhesus, the rest,
until only the nose remains, proud, pointed, right,
the nosebleed was useful after all,
the nostrils are stained but pure,
but nothing will be the same as before,
the nose soon must bleed again.

I rolled into town before dawn
Tired and hung over
And cranky
I had woken up nose to nose with a ***** ******* named Michelle
With whom I had downed more than a few litres of *** the night before
She had her ******* in a test tube nestled between her ****
I did not imbibe, it's not my thing
Let me drink
Let me drown
We are in the heart of paramilitary Colombia and I should not be here
Nose to nose
Drying residue on my leg
My pants by the window
My shoe in the sink
Michelle had gotten into a fist fight at a drag show the night before
Rolling up her sleeves
She took me away in a little white car with her other ******* friends
Into the night
Into pools of ***
And coke
And pesos misspent
I danced Vallenato with a crossdresser on a dusty floor in a bar on the black side of town
She didn't want to speak to me
So Michelle took me home
her home was a salon
Life imitating Art
And there we drowned.

In the afternoon I watched prisoners beg for their sanity in a building that reeked of ****
Barely enough water to drink
Tear gas in cages
Political prisoners or criminals
With homemade toothbrush shanks under pillows
Blood on the walls
Children in riot shields
A prison on an empty road
******* men scaled the walls to bring buckets to parched mouths
Bodies self scarred
dial telephones pulled between cells on ropes
Broken mirrors poking through bars to see who approaches
Broken inmates
Broken guards
At home that evening,
I missed being nose to nose with Michelle
But she never called again.

It is late and threatening rain, my feet rumble slow,
sorry, sorry. she whispers apologies to her crying baby.
I decide to cut through a field of withering sunflowers,
sorry, sorry. into tiny brown ears.
I push through their drooping heads in the dark,
her living room a dark khaki, the baby wails.
They slap me aggressively as I brush past,
the child was forced into her by a man with a gun, or many men with guns.
Standing on gnarled stalks, they scratch at my beanstalk legs,
the army ‘wife’, gently apologizing, muffles her child with her breast.
Their black faces stare at me, refusing to give up their seed,
all men are evil, they are the devil, she looks up a me, his hands upon her chest.
Getting out the other side took longer than expected.