That night I saw you sail
on wind made into words
on surf breaking in sound
on foam-crested verses
and your song called again
rolled back and called again
in this storm of meanings
wrecks were made of reason
my tears became the rain.

It’s actually quite fun
throwing mud,
if you can accept it
sticks sometimes
to your own slow fingers,
staining them.

But gather it all up
in handfuls,
dirt, wet for preference,
delightful
as missiles targeted
away there:

At the dark heart hated
by us all
and by all means repeat
the treatment,
until the target becomes
the victim.

There. Hopefully you feel
better now.

go on label me
put a name against mine
state what you say I did
box me up
lock me down
clamp the compartment lid

go on label me
invent a sin or syndrome
measure me for size
say I am this or that
account for nature and my skin
or the colour of my eyes

go on label me
punch the card
ink barcode my arm
number me a beast
stencil my blood type
where it does least harm

go on label me
believe I've gone away
believe in your own system
and write it safely down
but someone else has labelled you
and someone’s labelled them

Hey you crocodiles
Fighting for words to claim as yours.

Hey you mosquitoes
Drinking more than your fair share.

Hey you vultures
Circling around the weakest of us.

Hey you spiders
Waiting for an easy meal.

Hey you apes
Battling for possession of a bruised rose:

Look up and see the stars.

I find there are no words for you
or none that on their own will do
your true ways cannot be expressed
whatever things swim through my head
are not enough to say aloud
and so intending what is best
here are my rhymes for you instead

Read the instructions carefully:
Begin at one, go on to two,
Although, if logic’s not your thing,
Just tear the rule book into shreds
And visualise perfection now
Using the ideas of ideas

Beyond mortality and death,
Build foundations of cotton wool
Clouds as white as nothing known here,
Blend with new brightness,
Wipe clear shades of uncertainty
Away into whatever time

Becomes in this new place and then
Find things to occupy your time:
Balance pale porcelain cherubs
High and thread cold stars in millions
Above them. Harp with purest notes
If you are musical, if not,

Give oxygen to souls in need,
And shelter on this white mountain
Those bewildered victims starting
Without choice to spend infinity
Themselves believing nothing more
Than self and suffering.

good old television
or televisions plural because
this shop window has
twenty-two of them
all showing a celebrity
cooking show twenty-two

identical pans containing
the same cuts of chicken
or maybe pork or whitefish
being lightly browned while
no voice can be heard from
the twenty-two tanned faces

smiling out at us and
here the homeless man
watches them all from the
pavement and the rain
good old television
something for everyone