swollen mudflap dreams
  voice of sinew street
the
     wooden flakes     clap the wind

terra-cotta creaks muffle
choir kiss velvet thin in
  empty mountain air, sinai drift
( peace be with you, peace be )

         a long year        here's to another

–


  gotta visit the family in an hour
coffee and cake,
  brother and i will argue 'bout politics
he runs some business, i've never worked in my life
he uses productivity to hide his loneliness
i use social grace to hide my emptiness

we probably understand each other perfectly
       but will never steep to sympathy


–

big canary
best in school
sing your
lelujah for the gulls

break your wings in
crumbs and sandwich tins

burrow down to a
                     maize of glass
    build a temple of sleet
   and have a cry in it

–

bed lump, bed lump   lump
lump

  fight your frozen toes

  last week a lily bush grew in our drain,
pools of **** and tissue clogged and sputtered out
  the flowers were real pretty tho

–

it's like that feeling, you know, when you wonder, if    you
  left the gas cooker on, with the children still sleeping
an anxious terror overruns you, but you gotta get to work
too late to turn back now,
  you can't just stop everything every \
time you realize how easy it would be to loose it all

so you keep on,   determined resigned comfort
   despite an unshakable certainty
                                 it all burnt away long ago

–

go for a walk to calm
            rolling cloud
valley glut
                       last light's wet custard haze
  a solitary bird tries to mate with its echo

  branches tear
cut weave through silence
            effervescent haze
  the
dust road hill the valley fall the blur below


i dreamt last night  an old crush held me
and pulled my teeth out one by one
i really miss her

–

and so you lie, there, thin cotton down, gunked up on the drip,
   i read you a story,
                                  you don't want me to
               tired and disorientated, falling into sleep, among the
            bleeps and light,                 smell   of alcohol and saccharine
                                        you can't handle the leech of words right now,
but you insist i continue anyway.
i need this,  i
to prove i was there   by your side,
  for your sake,
and you are too polite to refuse me this narcissism,
too scared to shatter it all
          and turn away at the last

–

oh, hey! sorry i haven't
  yeah
       yeah no,
it's been years, hasn't it?
i- i know i know, i was the one who insisted-
and then never made the effort
what's up?
uh, nothing new, really
  still haven't fixed the wiring
still just
        flickering
anxious feeling
ambling along a
                           longing

that paradoxical redemption,  that

           impossible unity
    of innocence and forgiveness

…

yeah, no,
    nah

–

and so you float up, out of the vents, above the roof
  into the clouds, the rain sets in,   oh - the
       drier's broken, you can't afford to get these clothes wet -  but
the  pattering feels good on your blistering skin

  so you drift
      melt

and
       far below
you 
             hear
                                                  the bell's pale ring
   sunday murmur bubble and gather
       muffle ***** wring shoelace voices
              river wiped bored communal toes
          mudfleck shoes and patchwork rags

  a turn, another, then,
                                worn timber creak


the church doors open

If I could
Pull my clockwork heart out
From my chest and point
To every gear that refuses to tick

If I could
I would dismantle it in front of you
To show you where
And why it gave out

If I could
I would show you the gear
Unattached to any other
Spining desperately
Because it doesn't know
It's spinning along and for nothing

If I could
I would tell you I think
That I didn't know
That clockwork was so delicate
I think I have clumsy hands
And I broke a few parts
Trying to fix it

If I could
I would give you the windup key
To stab me in the back and twist it
Hoping for something to click into place

But I can't.
I gunked up the keyhole
Hope and fear don't mix well
Like chewing gum they stick
And mix until they're both brown

I can't
Reach that little gear
Spinning so relentlessly

I can't oil it
And stop it from screaming
Screeching so loudly
At all the other gears around it
That won't turn no matter how fast it goes

I can't
Turn each gear by hand
I've tried
No one warned me
That clockwork hearts are warm
And bruise so easily

If I could
I would take up my clockwork heart
In my clumsy callous hands
Feeling it's hummingbird wing beats
Struggling in Morse code
Begging and pleading
To be held gently

If I could
I think maybe I would grip it
Feel it sputter and struggle
Like every time before
Just for clockwork gears
To grind together
To spark for all the wrong reasons

If I could
I would squeeze just a bit more
Until the last spinning gear halted
I would sob as I crushed it
Because it's already bruised and sore

If I could
I would be gental and lay it down
Let it hummingbird wings beat
And see that it's a cog in a dying machine

If I could
I would let it go cold
Numb it so the bruises stop hurting
I would put it to rest for pities sake

If I could
I would be soft with it
But I have clumsy callous hands
And cruelty will have to do
I would dare to call it mercy
If it would justify my tears

The taste of bitter, burnt, ****** bat lingers and loiters on my tongue.
12 compelling capsules; the vile creature consumes me. It becomes me.
We swallow the slimy brew like ***** –
forcefully, frantically, and (near) fatally.
It promise lies of peace, power and protection.
We swallow more pills, hungrily.
It’s parseltongue subdues me a circle deeper in Hell.
My taste is bland, touch is numb , breath is still, and we are gone;
Slithered away mixed in gunked, grotesque goop; the tar serpent.