I see you in the sky
Hammering your one glass eye
And trading stories with the wind
We fit in wherever
Feelings are placed timidly
Back in their cupboards
Libraries of humbleness
Mumbling in their dreams
We’ve barely remembered
That the embers are still burning
Hymns of confession
Each have a story to tell
So we teach it to the children
By the rivers of yesterday
We trust our bodies to fight disease
And drink from streams of light
To see the sky can be insightful
When longing to stay
Becomes more practical
Then running away again each spring
It means belonging to the daylight
Though before you've arrived it seems
That you’ve already learned
How to stay awake
Until it speaks to you in your dreams
And according to her
We are unconsciously treading
On the seams of everything

I thought we knew
each other by our shadows.
Stratosphere laughs.

Inappropriate,
when you touch the moon
in torrential rain.

You pay a price
to listen to Beethoven.
You become blind.

A sparrow knits the-
dim moonlight to sleep in
my arms all night.

My devotion was
different. I would watch
the meltdown of moon.

You must move like
water. There was nothing to
say, nothing to catch.

m'lady mistakes
a punch to the face
as something more
compliant
tis not his kink
you should know
as you stand there
all defiant
a twist and turn
and a slow waxy
burn
is all you ever
hoped for
but with regard
to you and
the things you
do, your neck
is what a
rope's for
to keep this man
one rule of thumb
and forget the
usual blather:
have a ****
'tween your thighs
keep your mouth
well shut and at
the end of day
when he thinks
of you not as
a ***** but
a **** is all
that really
matters

We are savage and we are cruel
And we know well what we do.
The imprints of sycophants
Echoes in blood red rooms.
The certainty of colour
Washed white and hung too soon.
A memory of light,
A bloom of deja vu.
Remembrance forgotten
Rewritten and then renewed.

Still we know not what we do.

The past is a sombre portrait,
Watercolour hung askew.
Dust and skin belie the truth
Stroke sure yet misconstrued.
In the maelstrom of intent
Will is broken before it is bent.
A promise spoken, never meant.

Still we know not what we do.