Fragments 91, 92, 99, 106, 104, 103, 100, 105, 101, 102, 96, 109, 93, 94, 97, 95, and 133 combined.

Raise high the beams of the raftered hall,
(Sing the *****-refrain!)
Ye builders, of the bridal-dwelling!
(Sing the *****-refrain!)
Lo, the bridegroom comes, as the War-god tall —
(Sing the *****-refrain!)
Now nay — yet our tallest in stature excelling;
(Sing the *****-refrain!)
For stately he towers above all the throng
As the Lesbian singer towers among
All alien poets, a prince of song.

O happy bridegroom! it cometh to-day,
The bridal thine heart hith longed for aye!
At last shall she be thine own, the maid
For whom thou hast sighed, for whom thou hast prayed.
For none other maiden beneath the skies,
O bridegroom, was like unto her in thine eyes.
Whereunto may I liken thee, bridegroom dear?
To a green vine-shoot in the spring of the year.
Now, now let the bridegroom rejoice, for the bride
Into the hall cometh joyful-eyed.
Ethereal-pale is her lovely face.
Hail, bridegroom! Hail, bride, queenly in grace!
How goodly to see thy lord stands there!
And his goodness will keep him for thee ever fair.
Ah, doth she, ah doth she regretfully brood? —
Does her heart still yearn after maidenhood?
Nay, not in this hour she cries:
'Maidenhood, maidenhood, whither away
Forsaking me?'
While maidenhood replies:
'Not again unto thee shall I come for aye,
Not again unto thee!'
No more, no more doth she chant
Proud young virginity's vaunt:
'As the sweet-apple flames on the tip of a spray against the sky,
At its uttermost point, which the gleaners forgat, and passed it by —
O nay, they forgat it not, but they could not attain so high.'
But she thinks of the fate, an evil thing,
That the years fast-fleeting to fair maids bring.
When the roses are faded, the gold turns grey.
And the smoothness is furrowed, as singeth the lay —
'As the hyacinth-flower on the mountain-side that the shepherds tread
Underfoot, and low on the earth its bloom dark-splendid is shed.'
Lo, her hand into thine hath her father given.
And thou leadest her home 'neath the Star of Even;
To thy portal the bridal-train draws near.
And the Chant Processional rings out clear:
'Hail, Hesper, who bringest home all
That radiant Dawn scattered wide,
Bringest back unto fold and stall
The sheep and the goat, and thy call
Brings the child to the mother's side.
Let the rose-ringed Star of the Evenfall
Usher thee on, love's willing thrall,
Bride, garden of loves like roses blowing.
Bride, loveliest image of Paphos' Queen!
So pass to the bride-bower, pass within
To the nuptial couch, for the sweet bestowing
On the bridegroom, whose measure is overflowing.
Of the bliss, wherein honoured is Hera: 'tis owned
Of the Marriage-goddess, the silver-throned.'

Pine needles
Pine cones
Pine floorboards and beds,
Pining for a lover can make you lose your head.

Pine tar for turpentine,
Pine nuts to chew,
Pining for years long gone,
And a tango prance for two.

Pine woods deep and long,
Crisp kindling underfoot,
The compost here is lush and dark,
And bright insects crawl the root.

A drizzling breeze through pines is calming,
With rain clouds moist and full.
Yet headwinds of grey-orange smoke,
Make nineteen men the toll.

For when the pines are exploding,
And the Yarnell fire burns through,
Who but the stones will be here mourning,
A green love so fresh and true?

‘You know Orion always comes up sideways.
Throwing a leg up over our fence of mountains,
And rising on his hands, he looks in on me
Busy outdoors by lantern-light with something
I should have done by daylight, and indeed,
After the ground is frozen, I should have done
Before it froze, and a gust flings a handful
Of waste leaves at my smoky lantern chimney
To make fun of my way of doing things,
Or else fun of Orion’s having caught me.
Has a man, I should like to ask, no rights
These forces are obliged to pay respect to?’
So Brad McLaughlin mingled reckless talk
Of heavenly stars with hugger-mugger farming,
Till having failed at hugger-mugger farming
He burned his house down for the fire insurance
And spent the proceeds on a telescope
To satisfy a lifelong curiosity
About our place among the infinities.

‘What do you want with one of those blame things?’
I asked him well beforehand. ‘Don’t you get one!’

‘Don’t call it blamed; there isn’t anything
More blameless in the sense of being less
A weapon in our human fight,’ he said.
‘I’ll have one if I sell my farm to buy it.’
There where he moved the rocks to plow the ground
And plowed between the rocks he couldn’t move,
Few farms changed hands; so rather than spend years
Trying to sell his farm and then not selling,
He burned his house down for the fire insurance
And bought the telescope with what it came to.
He had been heard to say by several:
‘The best thing that we’re put here for’s to see;
The strongest thing that’s given us to see with’s
A telescope. Someone in every town
Seems to me owes it to the town to keep one.
In Littleton it might as well be me.’
After such loose talk it was no surprise
When he did what he did and burned his house down.

Mean laughter went about the town that day
To let him know we weren’t the least imposed on,
And he could wait—we’d see to him tomorrow.
But the first thing next morning we reflected
If one by one we counted people out
For the least sin, it wouldn’t take us long
To get so we had no one left to live with.
For to be social is to be forgiving.
Our thief, the one who does our stealing from us,
We don’t cut off from coming to church suppers,
But what we miss we go to him and ask for.
He promptly gives it back, that is if still
Uneaten, unworn out, or undisposed of.
It wouldn’t do to be too ******* Brad
About his telescope. Beyond the age
Of being given one for Christmas gift,
He had to take the best way he knew how
To find himself in one. Well, all we said was
He took a strange thing to be roguish over.
Some sympathy was wasted on the house,
A good old-timer dating back along;
But a house isn’t sentient; the house
Didn’t feel anything. And if it did,
Why not regard it as a sacrifice,
And an old-fashioned sacrifice by fire,
Instead of a new-fashioned one at auction?

Out of a house and so out of a farm
At one stroke (of a match), Brad had to turn
To earn a living on the Concord railroad,
As under-ticket-agent at a station
Where his job, when he wasn’t selling tickets,
Was setting out, up track and down, not plants
As on a farm, but planets, evening stars
That varied in their hue from red to green.

He got a good glass for six hundred dollars.
His new job gave him leisure for stargazing.
Often he bid me come and have a look
Up the brass barrel, velvet black inside,
At a star quaking in the other end.
I recollect a night of broken clouds
And underfoot snow melted down to ice,
And melting further in the wind to mud.
Bradford and I had out the telescope.
We spread our two legs as we spread its three,
Pointed our thoughts the way we pointed it,
And standing at our leisure till the day broke,
Said some of the best things we ever said.
That telescope was christened the Star-Splitter,
Because it didn’t do a thing but split
A star in two or three, the way you split
A globule of quicksilver in your hand
With one stroke of your finger in the middle.
It’s a star-splitter if there ever was one,
And ought to do some good if splitting stars
‘Sa thing to be compared with splitting wood.

We’ve looked and looked, but after all where are we?
Do we know any better where we are,
And how it stands between the night tonight
And a man with a smoky lantern chimney?
How different from the way it ever stood?

I pose high my chest of ragged ribbons
And unravel a fist to stretch out fingers in search
Of a hand glimmering pale like a lantern
throughout this grey
        empty space. Once a pavement, now as good as

Cloud. Frozen lake. Dust. Boiling ashes. Skeletons.

I am walking on the slashed frames of waves
As jesus once must have. Propelled to a miracle unwitnessned
To anyone but myself. I am impelled to corrode
Into a statue; to remain a rigamortic rotting jade jewel in the sun
Until I no longer can.
Until they found me...

Perhaps they'd dust me off, thaw the ice from my shoulders,
Rehydrate me and gorge me,
Restart the blinking light in my brain
And refrain me evermore from having to seek.

But seek I must, for the lonliness weighs me down
Further by the day. I take half as many steps now as when I began my voyage.
My memories are like ghosts of flames that play
Snakes and ladders and hide and seek.
I am the lighthouse man and I sail drunken--
A rubicund mishape of bone and scuffed thoughts,
I can feel every soul which once embodied and huddled this place.

It's like they are trying so hard to posses me but even
Their souls have been smouldered to whispers
So thin they ring as mutely as the surrounding mist,
So soft they vibrate akin to an infant’s pulse
Throughout these walls, these scrapyards, these crumbling arcades, this sandbox grey that begs for a scream.
The spirit of a tarantula trembles along my back and grazes it teeth against my shoulderblade,
Preying that I turn to confirm it's being –but it's a game I’ve long grown sick of–


I am the lighthouse man and I ceased having a face long ago.
What I recall of my reflection was a child so young and so sure
Of a different life that

I cannot be sure it's even me.

I am the lighthouse man; a puckered bulb balancing on too-big shoulders, that walked
  through barren flat closes and exited empty handed, the lonely poltergeist,
a bitter flab of skin.

I am the lighthouse man and I am the final Aspen leaf in the pond of the universe,
I see myself reflected in a sole star twirling underfoot and overhead
rowing my ears so thick with disfigured silence so that I wish I was born deaf.
I am the lighthouse man and my mind is a spinning fragment
    my eyes can merely follow and my floating steps merely trail.

It never changes tone here, I can only vaguely trace the time
By the occasional moon. Tonight it shines half chewed,
  Befitting the levelled star a sideways crown.
It is beautiful but I mustn't stop to admire, lest a survivor
Scavenger loses patience withholding the last of their scran.

I am the lighthouse man and I haven't eaten in years.

I am the lighthouse man and I bled for the first time yestardy.
I am the lighthouse man and my bulb ricocheted off the base of my skull
In a telling fairy tale dream. I felt static in my head
And my light's ink spilled across my hands and for a minute I thought
My light had gone out. I tasted blood,
Trickled down from my stinging nose and I had never been so scared.

I am the lighthouse man and I never knew I could die.

I am the lighthouse man. Once the world danced with magic and I was
A walking satellite that grew to want to dissapear.
I am the lighthouse man and my decrepitude is casted in my hands:
Black as the night from the dirt collected over the years.
The few slashes of skin clear enough to see look rust-like and obtrusive, outdone only by
My veins like wonky bruises that vine across the silhouetted bone;
Bridging gear to gear, clinking shivering knuckles
         That want nothing more than to surrender.

But I am only frostbit, not frozen.
Life was and thus must still be.
I am a raindrop, not the whole ocean.

I am a walking lighthouse inspecting and guiding empty seas,
A form without virtue
That ceased feeling it's metallic steps too long ago to recall.
A cubist teardrop falling down a grey giant's cheek,
Waiting to be captured and swallowed.

Or perhaps I am climbing uphill, slowly along the circumference of his forehead.
So slowly I cannot notice the rise. Perhaps I was destined to amble in hypnosis,
En route on this colourless limboid curve until I forget the concept of
             a destination, a soul, a matryr jester to rouse me awake...
             and perhaps it is then that I will be blessed with the heavenly bulb

Of the weeping giant on whom's flesh I disturb.
I am the lighthouse man and I dream of purpose.

I am the the lighthouse man with a penchance to levitate
I am the lighthouse man and I am a God without tool or reason.
I am the lighthouse man and I'll walk this limbo until my feet dissapear.

I am the lighthouse man and I am cursed.
I am the lighthouse man transitioning between lives and never knowing
Causality nor the answer. There are no questions to have;

I am the lighthouse man and I must have been a murderer in my past life.
I am the lighthouse man and I can feel my inner fuses twist,
Falling fainter and fainter by the second.
I am the lighthouse man and I will not make it another night.
I am the lighthouse man and I am a memory-bank full of nothing remarkable.
If I felt this months ago then perhaps I would make due with the my sojourn of an empty house, atop a parked car, and perhaps I would be contempt with rotting.

But now the moon shines so luminously bright and full and close! So very close!
I am the lighthouse man and I chase the moon.
I am the lighthouse man and I vaguely recall my mother saying 'do not eat the moon,
It will give you nightmares!’ and it all suddenly makes sense now.

The stars are all out tonight and they await my company. I am the lighthouse man and now I run.
I run run run run for the sky in ode to the rest of the bodies that abandoned this place.

the ghost of the moon,
a sky of dark oaks,
its blacks deep cauldrons
breaking like twigs underfoot
its blacks tragic horizons
where the clouds stretch and dissolve.

To you i would give the passion of the sun
and the shine provoked from simmered grass
and if the moonlight was not safe from your eye,
it's buttermilk glow i would surely pluck down.
To you i would give the midnight chimney smoke
that sillouette on the sky putting cobbles underfoot.
Take my taste of salt as sea white mer-men come
a breeze in the laughter of workmen's homecoming.
I give the feeling when swallowed by field flax
pinpricks of cotton, i'd lay you down bare-skinned.
You empty the film on my flesh camera,
I keep the removal cuts.

there in the wilderness
all things go to live
and all things go to die.

she stole my shirt and hatchet
and took to the woods.
                           hacked out the heart.

traded one wilderness for another. city into
trees.
she needed to breathe
and wring wet socks, relax, and study the mycelium songs underfoot.

she she she, like a marvelous
new love.
the grass and green stuff woven.
canteen replete with wheat nectar
         or half-batch whiskey.

needs nutrient,
the seed so new.
needs space,
the daughter as she grew.

what tempest breaks the trees and old heads
of mother timber?
         perhaps deep-winter,
         to test the fiber of a florescent forest fleek.

she built a chikee from fallen arms of a sprucewood soul,
drank water from a clay-thrown bowl
and granola to heat her bones.

new fish.
the river is cold on glacier blood.
new day,
driven beyond the random access roads & cobalt blast-holes stretching
gulches bloomed in chaparral.
up they crawl along monumental spine and shoulder,
giants sleeping.

she she she, live a marvelous new love.

the wonder is seen.
the wilderness lived and remembered
by girl or elk bugling their high-decibel poems
when ready.

my faces are the
about faces, my little breaths
are little deaths
I am like your cry at night

my time of day is seconds before dark
when suicide is a life-long contemplation;
a standard deviation from the sidewalk,
and the sunset is a reason

my day is the day when
suddenly,
your addiction makes you sad instead of happy
so why don't you stop

my breaks are all the breaks and
window sill stair fire escapes
used for smoking under-age
I've got it figured out early

my ocean beats against the rock of ages
I'll raise my fist and ***** on my own defiance.
I'm aching over my forgiveness, begging,
is Jesus still in pain?

well

There's a tiger in the tree top,
playing checkers with the sun king,
cutting light across the cloudscape,
as black takes red for another king me,
God carves the stubble along the jaw line,
clean cut remedy
we all sing for the twenty-third century break me down,
break the matchbox,
light us up,
burn the red wood down,
tiger's gonna swallow the world,
tiger's gonna bleed a rectified rainbow realist chorus,
all the pawns are at root,
all players underfoot,
God's got checkers playing with the son killing world feaster,
tiger tiger, what do you fear?
oh tiger tiger, what hell do you bear?
oh tiger, how death plays you so
so foolish,
tiger tiger,
you fall

The autumn winds are blowing fierce
They gust across my face
As I tiptoe through the woods
Beneath the leaves that fall
In a gentle rain

The cinnamon smell of loamy earth
Greets me with each step I take
As I tiptoe through the woods
Beneath the branches shaking loose
Leaves that have seen better days

The pop of mushrooms underfoot
Their fleshy insides I now see
As I tiptoe through the woods
Beneath the kamikaze leaves
That give themselves to the autumn breeze

I am sore muscles, burned food,
lit windows of houses I’ve seen
while standing out in the cold,
dead leaves underfoot, dreams of shoulder blades
pushed against plaster and a lump in my throat,
catching someone check their reflection
when they think no one’s looking,
running after an ice cream truck, airplanes crossing the sun,
laughter shooting from the chest,
vehicles racing along pavement,
the tenderness of the air this morning,
shadows stretching across snow, my gut fluttering
when we’re alone together, poems I write in which
nothing is true, the migration of birds,
lights dimmed and all the music turned up, constellations of stars
I will never know the names of, my thoughts chattering to no one,
driving on ice with a pounding heart,
dragonflies and thunderstorms with one ear-bud in,
a head on a shoulder,
hugs tight enough to hurt,
swerving to avoid strangers in the street,
poetry read on full eyes and an empty stomach,
waking in the middle of the night to
move through the house while everything’s soft and quiet,
leaning into things with base violent passion,
strawberries picked in August,
things I want but will never have, that great numbing beauty,
laying back on an unmade bed,
laughing and sobbing like a *****,  hurling rocks
into the navy monotony of the ocean,
electric jealousy,
inhaling dust of old books,
euphoric indie riffs, photographs pinned to walls,
jogging to catch up with a new friend,
spilled milk, a cool pillow at the end of every day,
shifting seasons, happiness louder than bombs,
lungs full of breath,
affluxes of glitter in my eyes,
a roar building in the space around me,
love and love and love

His hands ring in the upper classes.
There, in the morning light, his will
Is forged, bent, as truth, on ruling  
This place, underhand, underfoot.

With shuttered ears divining his voice
The dim pupils see only what is said.
The top hand schools, topples all words
Ringing hands sing the song of fools.

How Headmaster trains on the heel,  
A dagger strikes, the paper cuts
Exalted, his close minded hands,  
See a Czar in the stony swagger,

And the student body, submissively lies
With his feet.  Outside the college
The headmaster is heard. Grossly,
He is their dream and only shepherd.

His hands ring in the upper classes.
There, in the morning light, his will
Is forged, bent, as truth, on ruling  
This place, underhand, underfoot.

With shuttered ears divining his voice
The dim pupils see only what is said.
The top hand schools, topples all words
Ringing hands sing the song of fools.

How Headmaster trains on the heel,  
A dagger strikes, the paper cuts
Exalted, his close minded hands,  
See a Czar in the stony swagger,

And the student body, submissively lies
With his feet.  Outside the college
The headmaster is heard. Grossly,
He is their dream and only shepherd.

No use whistling for Lyonnesse!
Sea-cold, sea-cold it certainly is.
Take a look at the white, high berg on his forehead-

There's where it sunk.
The blue, green,
Gray, indeterminate gilt

Sea of his eyes washing over it
And a round bubble
Popping upward from the mouths of bells

People and cows.
The Lyonians had always thought
Heaven would be something else,

But with the same faces,
The same places...
It was not a shock-

The clear, green, quite breathable atmosphere,
Cold grits underfoot,
And the spidery water-dazzle on field and street.

It never occurred that they had been forgot,
That the big God
Had lazily closed one eye and let them slip

Over the English cliff and under so much history!
They did not see him smile,
Turn, like an animal,

In his cage of ether, his cage of stars.
He'd had so many wars!
The white gape of his mind was the real Tabula Rasa.

Frost underfoot and crisp cold air
morning dew, everywhere
each a crystal pearl
a million drop fruits unfurl
as far as the eye could see
caught precariously
by all the tiny hands
on every flower, fern and tree

a myriad of wonder
nestled here with natures mother
Time is irrelevant
other than the pressing
impatience of Another

To him it was just wet
bathed in ignorance
and bad for driving,
so he said.

I disagreed.
and had to take
the bus instead

the flower opens
the bloom welcomes the shadow
the flower is crushed.

I see the lonely
I see the lost.
I see the tears that filled these rivers.
I see the broken hearts.
Scattered like autumn leaves.
As the busy crowds crush them underfoot.

I see their empty eyes
And their painted faces,
Their smiles are as hollow
as their hearts.
They disguise their tears as raindrops,
As they walk the streets alone.
Forgotten.

I see the lost
And the lonely.
The tragedy that fills their days.
Unrequited
Unaccepted
Unappreciated
Unrecognised

I see them
I know them
I walk beside them
We, the unloved
Forever in love
Forever loyal.
Lonely
Lost
Forevermore

The Coastline
The salty spray
Crashing to the shore
Takes my breath away
I want to see more.
The coastline curves
Around the glorious bay
The beach huts serve
The finest cafe au lait.
Crunching pebbles underfoot
Sand in-between my toes
Forgetting the time it’s took
But then nobody knows.
Knows my whereabouts
Where I have been
Cannot hear my shouts
Or hear me scream
I’m joined by a lone gull
I offer him to share my lunch
In two seconds flat our space was full
Of hungry beaks eager to munch.
I enjoyed their company
Although I couldn’t hear myself think
There was that many
Birds fighting to eat and drink.
They eventually flew
They had other plans I could see
They had found someone new
And had finished with me.
I cared not a jot now and explored
The ragged coastline to the new town.
Rusty red boats were moored
Next to new ones clad in brown.
Ropes twisted, knotted and tied
Holding fast against the afternoon swell
The time suggests the incoming tide
My walk was over by order of the ship's bell.

When in the pasture
They don't offend;
We avert disaster,
When they're penned.

But that crusted crap
Is everywhere;
If not aware,
We step right in.
We'll scrape the pooh
To no avail,
The smell's
Stuck to our shoes.
We can't quell
The **** we're in.

There's one steaming
On my walk,
Leading to my door.
Leave your keys
When you leave,
That patty leads
To court.

The Internet's beset
With bullish threats;
Hard to miss
The patties here;
Our lives and much
That we hold dear,
Is shared and smeared
For all to read,
Milking us of privacy;
An abattoir,
It's piracy.
It's utterly insane.
They entice us,
Then enlist us,
Like leading
Cash cows
Down the lane;
Then tap
For one drop more.

Friends may offer
Cow pies
With an aromaticfluence;
They pressure you to choose:
Step right or left,
Then smear you with
Their cocksure *******.
What enemy
Could do less?

Shopped pixelled patties
Are reprehensible,
Making one
So susceptible:
You *****,
Then starve,
Then lose your hair
Until one day
You disappear.

We get caught up
In the flash,
Of all the stars
And fast cash,
But they have patties
Underfoot,
They slip and slide,
Get clean,
Then smirk.
We can smell'em
On those jerks.

There's a patty
At your boyfriend's place;
You're deep in it
If you're late.

There's a patty
At your girlfriend's  place,
And you're deep in it
If she's late.

Some patties
Are so well disguised
In the colours
Of lover's eyes.
Intoned in lover's lures.
But step in it,
They call you *****.

Some patties
Are good
At getting you high,
But one mis-step,
And you may die.

There's hidden patties
Lying within,
Crusted beneath
Veneered skin:
They waft with doubt,
Fear and longing;
Side-step that mass
At all costs.
Don't crack the surface.

You're better than
You think.

There was a squandering ember that climbed her spinal chord
and lit the deteriorating birchwood on the peach-fuzzed tea lamps.

When those stairwells cramped and swelled with staggered liquid terraces
in the foundational pin-cushion that cradled family after family.

Woe begone chants that railed support beams moaning under elemental abuse.

A litter of ghost kittens coiling underfoot where the rug
used to yawn before the grandfather clock,
now senile and rotting with absent-minded tick-tocks.

Inside her streetcorner, the music was that
monkey hopping to street ***** blue notes on somber ropes.

The air thick with the regal, chunky vibe
of batting eyes, flirty sighs, and bourbon.

Between the buildings again...
embraced with the same warm feeling that
entrances your fingertips, lips, and ears when within a man's arms.

In this city, Love is those two birds on that same powerline
that bowed and ebbed with summer's sweet sigh.

cast off
they never wanted us
they just want what we've got
I decry
because I must
before what I remember of liverpool
is ground into dust
underfoot
of a conservative government
determined to sell off everything
that makes us
us
we must what we must
its time to take back
what was ours in the first place
its in our blood

Sword ferns warming
some unfurling toward the sun
deeper green the moss, grows softly underfoot
forest fog the breadth of morning, breathing
grey of pale lichen clinging

a snow melt creek splashes running
clouds break away, to light the day
the shine of mossy flowers sunning

this church, it has no walls
no doors to lock nor ticking clocks to read
only of the sacred does this wooded temple sing
and I so humbled bow beneath
resplendent evergreens

Weekdays - we wear cattle trails into the green-space because
They taught us the shortest distance between two points is a straight line.
They told us to stay in school.
We made ourselves fit into the small boxes with bunk beds
Like the kind we always wanted as kids.
Now we nod to the cement snaking around the dorms - residence halls -
and erode the grass underfoot, single-minded.

Weekends - we stumble-snake on sidewalks because
They give us a straight line to follow back to our boxes.
They told us to get involved in the community.
We let ourselves spill outside our borders and backpacks
Like our cattle trails will fill out overnight.
Now we laugh at the cement moving in waves - or staying still -
and breathe on the stars, multi-minded.

Don't ******* a writer.
Her thoughts will be validated upon paper,
her eyes will cry tears of ink that sink into the pages forming words never quite forgotten,
your past together will be an anthem to young girls who suffer in the same,
when she spits out her blood soaked poetry the guilt will drive you insane.
Don't. ******* a poet
Because at three thirty in the morning she will write an angry piece about how perfect your eyes looked when the rain splattered your windshield, how your kind words melted the barricade, and when you were safely inside you lit a match, just to see how many things would catch
Dont break a poets heart,
it will not break her pen and when she sends the message across the web of how you hurt her,
the sound will resonate across the night clubs and everyone will know you shattered her like good china, smashed underfoot by a mad man, tension she couldn't bare, and drunk text messages unsent about how much she cares.

We, were an unfinished painting the artist got bored with, A Mona Lisa on an etch sketch,
you curled yourself around me and tucked yourself underneath my tongue,
you said when I smiled your limbs came undone, and you fell in love with me every time I sung to you,
well maybe I should have sung louder, because my message is now falling on deaf ears,
I want to hear the words, I need you, I want to see you, I miss you.
Instead I'm glued to my screen trying not to send you hate mail so obscene,
I never meant to get this attached to you, and maybe that's why you're running away.
If I asked you to stay would you bother? Or just run faster?
I promised myself I wouldn't write a poem about you, because if I did that I would have to open my mouth,
and I'm scared now that you've jumped out, and have found safety in another girls arms, how did I not realize this would cause me harm, I never wanted to fall for you.
Don't make empty promises, to poets.
We will never forget, because we produce the highest form of lies known to man, I can make words in languages you'll never understand, but with a flick of my hand and the right stance I could make you fall in love with me after the second glance. So don't try to lie to a writer, buddy I've been there. You think hearing "I hate you." hurts wait until you wake up to.
"Your eyes make mine want to bleed, your voice crackles up my spine, and shake me to the core. Every time you look at me I think of how many different ways I could feed your organs to starving children in Africa. Your pancreas I'd send to Guam, your heart to Ethiopia. Lead you into the depths of hell and keep you locked up. In case I wanted to play with you later, no. I'm not bitter, what makes you say that."
Or better yet, imagine waking up to silence. I cannot speak for my words are numb to the bubble of hatred in my centre. If I let it escape I will never stop screaming, I've been meaning to tell you that I could never regret anything we've done together.

It's raining tonight
Smearing the light down the window
as though the paint hasn't dried on the night

It's raining...
Is it raining where you are?
I can feel the rain wet upon my face...

Many miles apart
You are in your eyrie alone and asleep,
I am imagining you there, me there, us together, tonight

It's raining...
Is it raining where you are?
I am hearing the rain, in my heart

The moon, the same moon
Stares down at me, and watches over you
I take comfort from the silver moonlight falling on us both

It's raining...
Is it raining where you are?
I'm seeing the rain illuminated by the moon, sparkling underfoot

Lonely, I'm lonely
Sitting here, awake, alone... longing.
I am imagining me there, you here, us together always

It's raining...
Is it raining where you are?
I love the smell of rain in the grass at night

Can I take the step toward you,
Out into the night?
Can I take the step to another life
That may mend or break my heart?
Can I take you from your life, make you step lightly into mine?
Can I live without you still?

It's raining...
Is it raining where you are?
I can taste the rain, salt upon my tongue....

Madness round about us and no one knows,
Memories of ember fired trust,
Watch them, these entombed brains,
Piano sonata, violin concerto, torn notes,
Who are the ******, them or us?

Madness, insanity, absurdity, irrationality,
Craziness, dementia, stupidity, psychosis,
Senility, fanatical, deranged, mental,
Foolishness, hysterical, delusional, frenzied,
Psychotic, maniacal, lunacy, neurosis, disordered,
Take these notes and from them weave
A hymn to chaos.

And so here it begins...

Bee bar locked up honey sting hive,
For them that have wept grains of sand warm yet wet,
In that dark distant horizon mountain bark,
Onion quake cuts splash serrated blade,
Insanity uncorked frothy so seeps humanity.

Orphan sky spits pregnant daggers drip,
Wing plucked harpies never will sing,
Dead sailors salted lie in silken mermaid beds,
Schooners sail the scattered chase round the horned tail,
Skulls bubble air sockets freed from cloven trouble.

Roads webbed spiralled butterfly miles of bottled lies,
Venom harvested acres baked into medicine,
Undone years plunged inside veins popped into mouths,
I loved you know,
No, no, you did not know for all eternity.

Hope filed cabinet all lost my ghostly dancer,
Rooms silver sunned windows seared,
Playground memories brim on the haze,
Smoke fogged pipes puffed clouds,
Asleep amongst trees over green glass grass blades frost.

Hold fingers to hands strange,
Notes ring around maze tower of desires,
Low sands but tides rise and torrents break or fall,
Alone we enter same goes exit,
Midnight clowns ****** into dreamscapes.

Creased rage silver ironed steam brains,
Unfurl flags red and painted war pain,
Impotent artful eye with sedated lust,
Boil drum not loud remember to listen,
Say less, speak more, silence best of all.

Galleons crawl upon the divided cloud docks,
Look there, point to starboard land ahoy,
Deep bosomed tear slaked shore,
Sense mixed universe reduced to a tick-tock,
Never shall it stand, withered time no glance past.

Adios, fare thee well, goodbye, auf wiedersehen,
Tongues weep, eyes talk, observe tender songs silence,
Contradiction philosophises perplexing paradoxes pure,
Marbles, one and all, drown in the air,
Narrow, so narrow are those who judge all.

Sin to fear and all is terror called,
Wanton doves warble tunes broken,
Afraid I was, too wrapped in fear coiled I,
To know fright and bride forsake,
Never were holes deeper dug.

Reason not the rhythm nor rhyme,
Pandora, oh Pandora, what hast thou done?
Stare upon thy casket coffin spread-eagled,
Fire stealer Prometheus universal milk burns,
Gorgon Medusa snake dancer charmer seducer.

Silent bones drum against skin, wake up fool!
White winged dove blood red beak suite,
Humbled blood sore butchered vows vain,
Then as now silent partner is all,
Meant so much more you were.

Rapier, pistol, kiss and hold, to my temple place,
Slash, bang, smack and rake, let matter escape,
What uncharted continents we all are,
Walls rise hand bricked high over hill and sky,
Dilated screams of the civil dead no wall can cage.

Tears glitter sky to earth,
Seeding jewels amongst dung natural,
Fountains colour horizon wide,
Sanity transfigured stitched, haggled,
Eternal slaughter diamond edged sold.

Torquemada burrows rib cracked skin blood,
Skeleton tomb dust for leprosy romance,
Wail now poor Quasimodo tongue-tied,
No one to keep company but rat bones,
Unborn, forgotten, locked and barred.

Hush there! Let there be deafening silence,
Lie, cuddle snuggle, caress dark death,
There, still now, wipe away sleep,
Space time galaxies born in minds beyond measure,
Planets die, titans die, you and me we all certify.

Madness here! She creeps into bed mine,
Yours too! Oh, how richly embraced we,
Paris Town cellars breed inmates,
Lice tea stirred drunk and promises sung,
Escape none, trapped all, sky above and death underfoot.

This asylum madness no wall can hold,
Floats into night skies and into ears young,
Oh no, goodness no, you cannot out keep it in,
Destroy the house of madness you cannot,
Dost thou fear thyself knave? ‘tis merely a jest most musical,
All the chords sprinkled peppered and cast asunder.*



©Rangzeb Hussain

I move through the woods in ritual
The trees have shed their leaves like
Third sons and eldest daughters,
They cling bravely until the wind uncurls their hands
and bears them away from home.  
A scavenger, I search them out, hold them between finger and thumb,
Their last embrace.

Sometimes I will pluck a fading life from a branch,
melded amber and crimson,
the dregs of sun in their veins,
offered in the last vibrance of summer’s heat.
At home, I press them between pages,
tiny spells of weight and gravity
cast to keep their color.
I know this magic,
Autumn and I are kindred in this,
Our eyes are the same soft green and sepia of hiraeth
cradles of remembrance,
nets always cast back into memory.
Like all memories
There are a thousand useless,
The umber of old blood, trodden underfoot,
the seconds that dripped by unmarked.
But we hold the fragile, happy few,
High upon a shelf
the glowing phosphorus of laughter
The currant red of a last kiss
Returned to and returned to
Like an unanswered prayer.

Peter built a paper boat
To set afloat upon the sea
And visit spots of hidden coast
Where not a ghost of man would be
He painted letters on her bow
Which soon would plough and skip and trot
Between the waves which rose and fell
The letters spelled ‘Forget Me Not’

He bid his love a fond goodbye
The tide was high when he embarked
And drifted from his lonely cove
While weather drove and seagulls larked
His course was set, horizon bound
For solid ground and ****** shore
When darkness fell he made a bed
'Goodnight' he said and nothing more

His fast was broken elegantly
Delicately poached, his eggs
His freshly laundered morning clothes
Were hung in rows on paper pegs
He cut a furrow, straight and true
Across the blue, towards the sun
But in the distance, lightning spat
As thunder rattled, eddies spun

The tempest threw a wall of ice
Like careless dice, they clattered down
The sails dropped amid the squall
The hatches all were battened down
A curse was uttered through the storm
Its evil born on salty spray
With gusting arms of icy wet
It threw Forget Me Not away

He coughed awake, all caked in sand
Upon a strand of desert beach
Forget Me Not had run a-ground
But safely found the water's reach
He walked ashore and found a glade
Within it, made a paper home
And origami wings, he built
To never wilt and ever roam

He felled the tree and smote the ground
A frame, he wound of paper string
His garden flourished all around
Each sight and sound of ever-spring
The flowers jostled in their beds
And turned their heads to follow him
He kept his distance from the blue
In case the view should swallow him

An evil creature stalked the trees
It dined on bees and butterflies
On owls and cats, it liked to sup
To gobble up and gluttonize
With paper sword, he killed the beast
And cooked a feast to celebrate
A rain cloud sought to disagree
But quick was he to remonstrate

He flew his island, shore to shore
And kept a score of fire flies
They hung imprisoned in a glass
The light they cast could hypnotise
With nothing left to see or do
He flew up to the highest spot
And carved into a single tree
Remember me, forget me not

His boat remade and set a-sail
The heavens pale with early dawn
Upon his bed, he sat inert
With paper curtains neatly drawn
His charts uncharted, compass blunt
A currant bun, to satiate
A world of peril out to sea
To skillfully negotiate

Some time to contemplate the past
And backward cast the here and now
The Merfolk sang a siren song
And leapt along beside his bough
They guided him to foreign ports
Where shady sorts in cider soak
The tales they told were sizeable
And risible, the words they spoke

He folded down his paper boat
Into a coat of paper lace
And set the ocean to his back
The open track, he turned to face
The way he took was through a copse
The swaying tops of mighty pines
Leant form and rhythm to his pace
Upon his face were thoughtful lines

To either side, the shadows grew
No more, the blue shone through the boughs
And branch and bracken, driven wide
Were cast aside as careless vows
He chanced upon a quiet nook
A winding brook, it scurried by
It seemed a place where time would bide
While either side it hurried by

So dining sparse on only bread
He laid his head upon the ground
A lullaby the branches sighed
Was far and wide, the only sound
He deftly pitched a paper tent
And in it, spent a weary night
A whisper echoed in his ear
It lingered near, beyond his sight

So many weeks of rambling
Through bramble and through briar patch
And pausing for an hour at best
With feet to rest and breath to catch
The summer season on the wane
With autumn rain, attention pinned
To pounce on unsuspecting shoulder
Ever colder rose the wind

Above the adolescent fruit
Fed by the roots of ancient trees
Gave promise of a juicy crop
But yet to drop, they simply tease
Upon a morning laced with dew
A shadow grew and fell across
The spongy ground rose underfoot
And boulders jutted through the moss

The space between the trunks expanded
Saplings stranded on the scree
And whispers carried on the air
From places where they couldn't be
A sheer cliff now blocked the way
A ***** gray and smothering
Against, there thrived a mess of vines
With jagged spines their covering

He found a cave and ventured in
A desperate grin upon his lips
His chattering of nervous teeth
Was lost beneath the endless drips
Reverberating ceaselessly
Increasing with each fall of foot
A passageway and crooked path
By wrath of ancient water, cut

The arid air was felt to shift
And Peter sniffed a musky trace
The passage opened wide and tall
It sprawled into a massive space
The walls were smooth as beetle hide
But all inside was bathed in black
The flies were putting up a fight
But solid night was biting back

A tower carved from stalactite
In spite of probability
Was looming from the cavern top
And from it dropped futility
A spring of purest liquid gloom
Within, there bloomed an evil thirst
For those who drank a thimble worth
Would tread the earth, forever cursed

The cavern floor was laced with dust
A powdered crust of rotted skin
As Peter neared the central spire
The fire flies grew weak and thin
But all across the distant dark
There lit a spark and sprang a flame
That burst from ancient blackened lamp
To banish damp and shadow shame

A scrabbling amid the murk
As forward, lurked a breaking wave
Of decomposing denizens
The citizens of Evergrave
With sinew bared through rotted hide
The flesh inside was yellowing
From every throat that still remained
There shot a baneful bellowing

They forced him to the tower's tip
From which the drip of night was thrown
Gruesome stairs he climbed in haste
Of interlaced and knotted bone
A dire tunnel led within
The light was thin and shadow thick
A deathly door he tumbled through
And fell into a bloodied slick

Within was rank and heavy air
Like foxes lair where hunters slept
The walls, from living flesh, were stitched
The carpet twitched as Peter stepped
The Zombie Queen sat on her throne
Of flesh and bone of Underlands
She rested on its gory arms
Which raised their palms and held her hands

The creature laughed and cocked her head
A single thread of drool there hung
Between her lips and fear crowned
The single sound which echoes sung
The living walls, they tensed and strained
As terror reigned and ichor dripped
And when the monarch of the dead
Inclined her head, the stitches ripped

She spoke in harsh and bitter tones
As withered crones do curses bloom
The fate of Peter turned to dread
His soul, the dead would soon entomb
A single card he had to play
On such a day, in such a spot
He grinned and bid the rotting queen
‘Your time has been, forget me not’

His folded coat he casted wide
And from inside, a paper storm
Within the flurry, shapes were made
As wings were splayed and talons formed
A paper dragon rustled forth
And in his jaws, the queen he caught
He turned on the assembled dead
Within his head, a single thought

Peter climbed between the wings
Where paper rings he’d fastened there
Gave safety for the coming fight
And all the night, he nestled there
Until the dragon fell asleep
Upon a heap of smitten foes
And Peter robbed the deathly hoard
Each room explored on stealthy toes

He shunned the dark and met the day
And made away for higher ground
Along a path of narrow ledges
Razor edges, upwards wound
A trail, he scaled around the peak
Of Raven’s Beak the mighty mount
Up slopes which claimed so many lives
And widowed wives beyond his count

He stood atop the pinnacle
Where clinical, the ****** snow
Reflecting in the autumn light
Lent all a white and eerie glow
The frost had chilled his fleshy core
His eyes absorbed the scenery
A distant shoreline tugged his soul
A long unfolding memory

Of home and of his fireside
His future bride would tarry there
The tiny church upon the sand
He’d always planned to marry there
He took his dagger from his sock
Into the rock at just that spot
He carved upon the highest stone
I turn to home, forget me not

The knotted land that lay between
Had never been abode to man
The name it took was infamous
And ominous: The Neverspan
Its valleys tinkered with the eye
A fractured sky shone crookedly
Above a wood of vacant trees
That clawed the breezes hookedly

The setting sun would lead the way
Through lands which lay in wait for him
To bare him forth, a paper horse
To keep a course and gait for him
The blackness trickled from the bark
The  tangled dark enshrouded him
And songs in long forgotten tongues
About him hung and clouded him

He journeyed through the Ebonmire
Though fire failed to kindle there
His breath before him writhed in blight
And turned to fight the rancid air
Through many months of loneliness
And bitterness of solitude
He conquered the abandoned wood
And silent stood in gratitude

He forayed through the hill and plain
As on the wane the winters hold
The grass had shaken off the snow
Its Icy glow had turned to gold
A paper hat he now prepared
For as he fared, the rain endured
His horse was crumpled in the wet
No living vet would see it cured

The seasons tumbled mindlessly
And rivalry removed his haste
A sallow band of Neverbeast
By shadow greased and interlaced
With paper sword, he lay in wait
To penetrate each haggard hide
And when their blood was deftly spilled
A phial he filled for sake of pride

The sun became his only guide
His face belied his weariness
With little left to raise his soul
Above the cold and dreariness
Until the second summer passed
And sunset cast a silhouette
The outline of a tiny church
Was perched beside a maisonette

A flutter leapt about his heart
And wide apart, his eyes were flung
As Peter ran with tired limbs
The heavens dimmed and crickets sung
He reached his open garden gate
His face elated, turned to woe
As through the window he could see
His bride to be would not be so

A gentleman stood at her side
His bride adorned in happiness
And though it burned in Peter’s chest
His wrath would rest in idleness
So with a final fleeting peek
He turned to seek a worthy cause
Before he left he knelt before
His former door and seemed to pause

He fled upon his paper wings
As many things he’d yet to see
A myriad of foreign faces
Distant places he should be
He sailed the sky and sought the sand
His native land he soon forgot
Behind, he left a single note
And on it wrote: Forget me not

green forest child
you grow in sponge drenched soils  
drawing me in - an epiphyte longing
sunlight piercing raindrops
of lettuce lichens drinking
mosses soaked, greening
softly underfoot

Why is the concept of being forgotten so paralyzingly terrifying to me?
Before the expanse of time,
none of us stand a chance of being remembered.
We will be swallowed up,
only be known as a statistic, a point of reference.
The thoughts we think are paramount
Quail before the laughing face of Time.
God will remember me,
so why do I care about what those on earth think?
Why do I care what people think?
What kind of sick ******* are we that we derive pleasure from others' pain?
Schadenfreude is alive and well
Unlike you and I
Why don't I throw up my hands
And succumb to the ravages of an indifferent Time
And an indifferent society
Why not let them win
Who values a game which is purposely weighted to one side
If not those who have waged something dear upon the outcome
The Ender inside me rejects the faulty system.

Why do I persevere for a "humanity"
which will never improve
In fact,
the more we evolve and know and comprehend,
The more apt we are to be heartless
Because why do we need a heart when we have a brain, Tinman?

Why do we care what we look like
Our bodies are merely
borrowed from the earth
And in the blink of eternity's eye
what we call ours
will belong to another

Why do we live in a world overflowing with bodies
And entirely lacking with people

Why can we satisfy any part of ourselves
by draping on borrowed emotions
Why is the false more alluring than the truth?
Show me an honest person
And I will show you an attractive one.

I am not you
you are not me
And we will never be
The same
Despite the pervading effort of our society
I will not be assimilated.

If we let people in,
They wouldn't hate
So why are we terrified of doing that
Is it because,
If everyone is in,
No one is
And in ceases to exist?

Why do we feel the urge to gloat about things we did not earn

Why does 1
Make more money than 2
Because his nose is straighter,
His hair is curly rather than straight,
Because 1 spends an eighth of his time in the gym
While the less attractive 2 spends 7/8 of his time
Screaming inside
At a society which has cut off its own ears that it can't won't hear.

Why are random genes a judge of worth
While character is a word so overplayed
It folded its hand long ago

Why is the face of a beautiful liar
Infinitely preferable
To that of a plain truthteller
Infinite whys
And a world which whispers
     Cradle me with your honeyed lies
     Assurances of past lullabies
     How do I trust what the mockingbird cries
     When even it runs from the skies
Why do so many see ourselves as bound and controlled by manipulated strings
When those strings are nothing but ropes with which we can escape

Why do we live on top of one another
Without deigning to know our prisonmate
Without so much as a spared thought
For the dead flailing beneath us

Why do I hold dearest to my heart
Past injustices
Counting them as the tiny, insidious proofs
That I am a good person
Because good does not exist without the bad
Relativity is the grip keeping us from sliding
Down.
Away.

Why is it that words spoken can never be taken back?
Simple. We can never reclaim what was never ours.
You think you are original in your menial thoughts
What have you done but regurgitate the thoughts of your predecessors?
Rearranging the same letters
To form the same tiresome conclusions.
We are the worst type of plagiarists.

Why is the only thing propelling you a sense of duty
Why are you devoutly loyal to objects rather than the people who happen to hold them

Why

Why do we invent reasons to hate one another
We take solace in the loopholes which justify our hatred
That we may not be like the "monsters" we condemn

Why are "we" and "they"
Not just markers of distance?
Why must they be very real, ubiquitous mentalities?

Why are somber topics the common stuff of jokes
Because we have grown numb enough to empathy
To shun it in favour of a laugh?

Why is suffering so prevalent
When we have an excess of affluence
Are such extremes what define us as a race?

Why is a white lamb the symbol of pristine innocence
When innocence is slaughtered day after day?
Why are sharks abhorred creatures even though
Our vicious attacks
Far outnumber theirs
Do we idealize them that we may have a reason
An excuse
To assert our dominance over yet one more
To feel the joy of crushing them underfoot
Why do we focus on certain images
When the true image of our society
Is the person who occurs each day,
Who breaks
The answer is because we know
that we
Are at fault.

Why when confronted about the tiniest aspect of ourselves
We rear our heads in defense
Backing up against the corner of idiocy
The walls built upon the truths we have fabricated
Why are the swirling armor of falsities so comforting
And when pierced
We rebel
With every bit of the person we have built
Lashing out as does a dog chained its entire life
But even a dog
Which is after all "just an animal"
*Is not fool enough to delude itself into loving its chain.

He could not see
What was under his nose
So he plated the thorns
On the Phrygian rose
And there she sat
Barbs glittered - not gilded
Impaled on her spit
Of aureate anvils.

And the pissy-beds
In their plain yellow trappings
Fathometer blips
On a bed of green wrapping
Their ******* halos
Trudged underfoot
As he ground them to mince
In the threads of his boots.

He could only love
What he couldn’t have
What lay free at his feet
Was too common a salve.
But it’s hard to love
What is hard to hold
Thorns will draw blood
Even if covered in gold.

His hands ring in the upper classes.
There, in the morning light, his will
Is forged, bent, as truth, on ruling  
This place, underhand, underfoot.

With shuttered ears divining his voice
The dim pupils see only what is said.
The top hand schools, topples all words
Ringing hands sing the song of fools.

How Headmaster trains on the heel,  
A dagger strikes, the paper cuts
Exalted, his close minded hands,  
See a Czar in the stony swagger,

And the student body, submissively lies
With his feet.  Outside the college
The headmaster is heard. Grossly,
He is their dream and only shepherd.

As the flowers bow their heavy heads at the cusp of early winter,
In such a way do I withdraw, as freezing rains begin to fall.
When the dew becomes the frost, summer's grass recedes into the earth.
So do I surrender, stumble, and finally retreat within myself.
When the rain begins to pour upon the sand, it seeps between the grains and soaks into the ground
And in this way, my musings dissolve into the ocean of my mind.
The leaves of trees have long since fallen, trodden underfoot
As have my aspirations, love, and longing for the warmth.
Budding bushes, noting winter's cue, fall into their dormancy
As I close my eyes, let out a sigh, and lurch into a snowy sleep.