What’ll happen when you die? Will I lose you again? That would mean finding you. Undoing years, unpicking frayed edges fixed with the wrong coloured yarn. I see you at funerals. At Mum’s you were angry. So was I - but I concealed it. Played numb. At Dad’s you were shaking. I thought your nerves were finally shot. Or that the little boy, naked standing in snow, washing his clothes after a petit-mal fit, was still shivering and waiting for Mum. Then I noticed you weren’t drinking. Said you’d been stitched (again) by police- who’ve always had it in for you. Like they pass this hatred down through rank and generation, onto every town you’ve ever lived in? So that explained the orange-juice-and-lemonade made tidal in your hand. I want to rewind you. You were trouble, of course - but you were nice-trouble and I loved you. I looked up to you. I didn’t see the Big-Brave-Wall you were building. Or the things that made us not-normal. When I was born you were thirteen and already broken. When I was old enough to understand Mum had gained an upper hand, and you always sided with Dad. Even though you showed signs of knowing he was the ******* that ****** us up? I didn’t get it as bad. She learned. Mistakes made on you weren’t made on me. For a start she never left me with him. I was less ******. Or maybe not. Maybe just differently-****** and quicker to heal. My first crush? The copper who called for you, countless times - while I curled m'self round m' cornflakes, burning - too scared to move or turn, rotisserie style, in front of the blue-gas flame. And somewhere in me, not so deep, that teenage ju, that one less-mended who danced-all-weekend-and-slept-where-she-landed, still boasts: Had him y’know. Another notch on a well-and-truly nibbled ‘post. I cried at Dad’s funeral, but I wasn’t crying for him. Why would I?

Then there were none
everyone gone and
it's no use being free if
there's no one to see.

In the land of the chain where
each link bears the pain of
the one it's attached to,
where do we fit in?
and it's no use sitting pretty when
everything's ugly,
that bugs me
it should bug you.

We still bring the bacon home
pretend
that we're not alone or
in a
people free zone but who are we
kidding?
and who's kidding who,who's ridding you
of the friends you grew up with?
Give me a clue
give me something to work on,
a difficult ask when
everyone's gone but
I ask anyway.

Today or tomorrow or sometime next week,
I might seek out the answer or it might seek out me.
The problem being free is you never know
where the locks are,
I never think ahead that far,I
only think of the link and the next in
the chain.

The snagged line grows taut
As I repeat the question
" Is there anything you want?"

House too empty , stairs too steep
She wants me back, I worry
"Weve been to ASDA , dont ask what i bought"

Saturday afternoon phonecall
"How are things?"
The reluctant tagline
"Not so bad"

Front garden going native
I set off down the cracked path
Doesnt want next door to see
I dont wave

TALKING THEIR LANGUAGE

June classroom, stir of voices
Arriva trains glide to the coast
Coffee needs filling, the last biscuit goes
This afternoon we look at idioms

Unpicking centuries, cultures
Somalia, Bangla Desh, Kurdistan
English remains official
Still a puzzle

"Speak slowly and clearly"
"Dont hit trees with sticks"
"Its a piece of cake"

The intricacy of language
Shapes ancient letters
"Lemon squeezy " chimes Messa
Our laughter is shared

Precious friendship of the real lasting kind is rare.
If you find it one day, know that it found you first.

Nobody knows where the Ragman goes
In the wee, small hours of the morn,
When he’s taken the dray with your rags away
Through the pin-point eye of a storm.
He came to stay while you were away
And your sister gave him your dress,
The one with the dreams and the bright sequins
Sewn in to the lace at the breast.

She said that you wouldn’t be needing it
Since your dreams have faded to dust,
When all those hundreds of bright sequins
Were dimmed, and turning to rust,
But the Ragman knew that he’d capture you
If he made away with your dreams,
And sits unpicking your party dress
With a razor blade at the seams.

Your sister Grace has a second face
That she turns when she’s not near you,
In a zealous, jealous and carping place
That she keeps well hidden from view,
For nobody gives her a second glance
While she schemes and dreams and plots,
To plant your beauty deep in the ground
With a host of forget-me-nots.

Don’t peer too long from the balcony,
Don’t stand too long at the edge,
She’s loosened the rail you lean upon
And thrown the bolt in the hedge,
A sudden rush and a simple push
Will send you a long way down,
While she prepares her look of despair
As they plant you there in the ground.

I’m only a menial footman here
But my love is stamped on my face,
I’m going to track the Ragman down
And bring him back to this place,
I’ve seen his dray by a cottage door
In the forest of chills and frost,
And seen the women he buys and sells
Who wander the forest, lost.

Your sister sips on a nightly draught
As she sits and watches the Moon,
Plotting to see the end of you,
I know that it’s coming soon.
I’ll drop a potion into her drink
And tie her up in a sack,
Then throw her up on the Ragman’s dray,
She’ll never be coming back.

He’ll take her deep in the forest there
To the caves of unshriven souls,
Then put her up on the auction block
And sell her to one of the trolls.
The bolt is back in the balcony rail
And the potion’s in her drink,
The Ragman’s dray is coming today
And your sister’s at the brink!

David Lewis Paget

Almost effortlessly it appears to be
somewhat divine
cuts the line so fine through skin and bone
homes in on the malady that's affected me
and burns it out.
Laser beams unpicking seams
I deem it best to just accept the light
lay back and relax
while the laser attacks
me
internally.

It's like Star Wards
tied by hospital cords
and it's scary
but interesting and fascinating
hyperventilating
fear
the laser comes near
closing my eyes
nobody dies who comes into the light
Yeah alright
I'll believe
but the laser freezes and does not burn
which is of some concern
did not expect that turn of events.

The surgeon cements me together
he's clever
and say's 'all done
nothing to worry about'
then goes off with a gun in his hand
to laser beam land?

Everything moves so fast
where once a plaster cast would have done,
Today,
everyone wants to blast you with a laser
gun.
Zapped.

You are bored and tired
on a day that dazzles me.
I am distracted, impatient
on a day that calls you forth.
My achievements are old news
and you shrug.
Your achievements
are not the ones I wished for you.

The world is unfolding before you.
The blinding light you brought here
is dissipating far and wide
and I blink – was that a dream?
Did I stop it all for something?
Did everything change for something?

So the painful, slow unpicking begins.
I know it from before,
as my dad became a separate thing,
a man I like but do not need.
The years as nodding strangers
telescope ahead
as the brief, blissful bubble
of you and me as one
collapses.

Let me hold you one more time.
Let us feel each other’s heartbeat
one more time.
Let this be what we mean
when we shake hands as men,
when I pass the phone to your mother,
when you drop off the kids and go.
Let us have a speechless moment
when we remember what was,

and stake our separate claims
to the future.

I woke at three to see
darkness tied around me and
in the blackened knots
I spot
a dot of light.
It might be a morning hidden there inside the knots but would I dare to try,untie the ties that bind and blind me so
if I don't I'll never know
Will I?

Unpicking and sticking to a formulae,I try my best
but these knots would test the patience of a saint and I ain't got no time to waste,
In haste I take a kitchen knife to cut what remains and find I'm right
Morning is inside
tightly bound but I have found
the light.

She lived in a cupboard under the stars
Crouched and curled, laid out like the twisting Milky Way
Twinkling and breathing and playfully sighing to herself
Her fingers drew clouds in the rotting wood
And knew all of their names
She passed the time by piercing holes in the sky
And seducing the moon with whispers, epithets and subtle gestures
She drew secrets from passing birds
Teasing them out like threadworms
Softly winding them around her hair
Putting them to her ear to listen
Before swallowing each morsel
Drawing her hands down on to her lap
Unpicking her scars
To find a hiding place
For 12 years she remained there
Until there came a voice at the door

The death of you
Is unpicking
All of the stitches
I've sewn up

And the wounds
Are being rubbed
In coarse salt.
Punishing me
For ever forgetting about them.

unpicking then sewing back up
memories I feign would forget
forever free of their insistence.

I tell myself its all down to the will
to will not to give them entry
but some memories hold a secret

to mine that treasure can take time
all the time it takes to heal
a wounded mind from another time.

unwinding the dross
from my mind
makes things no clearer
but at least i see
the rapids before me

unpicking the stitches
from my heart,
makes it no less painful
but at least it lets
the infection out

taking the rocks
from my backpack
does make it lighter
but leaves me frozen, staring
at the signposts of my life

and how do i
get rid of the
etchings of you
off my bones
the tattoo of
your love inked
into my soul

how do i change
my essence
forever
mixed
with yours

it would be just
as easy to
paint the sky green

There are mansions in my head
some half built and others painted red,
but each on its own,a
home for my thoughts
of which there are many.
Any one of which of whichever one I'm in
teaches me something and I can begin
to learn.
Some mansions are cold,some are quite old and
others brand new,some centrally heated in these I am
seated on quilts made of dreams unpicking the seams
of my days in the night.
I might decide to override the imperative,dismiss the
narrative and demolish the lot,
I might not and
that's what the mansions are for,each door that I go through
leads me to thoughts which are brand new,
it bothers me though that some are painted red,
I don't like that colour,
I prefer blue or green,red's just
obscene and angry,
is that me?
angry?

And all the while
unseen energies
were unpicking
and stitching as
the fabric of
existence fell in
strands upon the street
or
simultaneously
pulled silken threads
together-

My rags are beautiful

Possessions smell

Confused as ever
welcoming life
just as it comes

When you’re here,
it feels like you’re somewhere else.
Your gaze;
it’s distant lately -
you won’t look at me,
with those chatoyant,
pale,
marbled eyes.
That choose to belittle my entirety
when they pluck at each individual “flaw” -

“faults”

that I never even knew I had.
Your words are empty.
Our conversations fake.
And your lust often replaces your love.
But I ignore it
when I get the chance to trace the line of your silhouette
with my fingertips,
while your fingertips dance over me;
when you feather your nails
through my hair,
and pull.
You’re like a noose.
When you walk your hands
up my thigh,
and grasp.
You’re like a thief.
When you scatter your lips
across my chest,
and bite.
You’re like an animal.

But after,
lying next to you - weary and jaded -
my mind wanders.
Then suddenly you’re not there and I’m brooding in some strange solitudinous sense…
Then I’m not wandering but I’m crawling,
because I’m overwhelmingly drained,
and overcome with Hiraeth.
Back to reality.
To the reality of our broken “love”
that hangs by a mere thread –
thread that I used to create
exquisite things,

art.

That’s suddenly unraveling; unpicking the delicate stitches in my skin
that I once used to entice you with.
I’m a prisoner
to my past;
It trips me every time I’m finally leading the race,
and I,
in the dust,
watch in defeat as everyone passes by me.
I was your cynosure;
now I am invisible
even to you -
my shame outshining my truth.
I feel exposed,
yet really, I am still hidden behind the same mundane mask
that fabricates my fraudulent smile.

Our fights are a screaming red flag.
I get trapped further in my own personal pandemonium the longer I’m with you
so,
I raise a white flag
and surrender.
Because it’s easier than when I get angry
longing for the feeling
of being in control.
In control and overpowering
your cruel and cutting words.
Because when words come from your mouth,
it means and hurts,
more than from any stranger.
It’s this bittersweet enlightenment,
of your true judgement,
straight from your tongue;
guess the cat must have had it all this time.
It allows me
to realise
that someone I’m so infatuated with
could secretly view me as more of a sort of dalliance.

I don’t know why I’m surprised.

An awkwardness lingers in the air now
like the breeze in the room
that chills my skin and raises my hair the same way your touch once did.

You leave when inconvenient for me
and return when convenient for you,
but trust me “baby”,
how you leave,
says more than how you love.
You love -
by playing me.
Like an instrument
when we are in bed, in the dark.
Decadent.
Dissolute.
Dissipated.
But also like a fool when I fall.
Hopelessly.
Helplessly.
Habitually.
for that familiar taste and touch
of false safety -
for the feeling of home in your arms,
for the unique scent embedded into your skin,
that would sooth me to sleep
like I never could
alone.

Sometimes
sleeping nestled like two birds,
was an escape for us.
Because sleep was so rare.
I went from feeling isolated to embraced -
you would evoke the most pleasant images that would conjure in my mind
and follow me;
to make my persisting nightmares
and ceaseless,
over-thought anxieties
just the slightest bit better.
Because I could feel your warmth radiating,
under these soiled sheets.
And because my wanderlust burned out;
like the candles that lit our bedside, when you were next to me.
I didn’t wish to be elsewhere anymore - I was finally content, and more.
So.
Much.
More.
Because in my repose,
you were without doubt,
the first -
and only,
thing I looked forward to.
And in my wake
you were just as eagerly anticipated.

A voice - intoxicating like no other,
built with distinct, harmonious vibrations
that I recognise immediately…
A sound that induces paranoia.
Hands - designed and crafted
to strum my pain,
like a younger him
strummed guitar strings.
To sad songs I still listen to
with my lonely ear pressed to the walls of your world,
while refusing the tear attempting to escape my eye
as I reminisce in a time
that was simpler -
as the nostalgia becomes heavy
on my conscience.

So yes -
I hate that I love you;
because you’re like red wine.
Delicious now,
dry later,
with a lengthy after-taste that never quenches my thirst.
I hate that I admire you.
I hate that I adore you.
I hate that I tell myself
you deserve your name on a crown
and how my knees are cemented at the base of your throne.
I can’t stop justifying you
because you’re more addictive than any of the drugs.
I start to forget.
But it just comes rushing back in a matter of seconds.
Then my eyes roll back into my head
as I hear the heavy,
desperate breaths,
and see a blinking montage of images
flash,
briefly,
in my mind,
like a movie on an aged and broken tape.
Of us.
Doing what we’re best at -
even though we shouldn’t.
You;
the artist.
I;
the canvas.
Spread apart, begging for completion
and your signature tattooed
on my

skin.

Cagney,
he with the grapefruit,
'top of the world ma'
yankee doodle,
was in my opinion
not a dandy.

which has nothing to do with this
it just needed saying.

I'm praying for a take over
a once in a lifetime
make over
or
I'm going under
and
difficult I believe is
the way that I'll breathe
with the
PSI
building
but
pressure is not just
a cooker,

she
was a helluva looker
and I felt the pressure then
to
bypass the other men and
make a play for her.

Love being the apple in
the orchard
it is sometimes and somewhat
awkward
to say what you mean
when you mean it.

Here I am
man in a quandary
why don't you
call me?

Actually
I am fracturing
the seams are unpicking
no
sticking at fifteen
which was always
the magic number,
tragic really.

I can't reach the cut out
don't tell me
she puts out,
that is so passe.

I wonder who
was on
the grassy knoll,
no one at all?
a conspiracy
to do away with me?
hey
do what you like
I see
a brighter future
in futures.

She,
makes
contact with me
a
protracted affair
which
is only fair
when
I love her.

Leave scars for the scarred and the duels of the die hard brigade.

When I reach out to touch you and you know that no one can reach you and you teach me the error of my ways,

and nothing stays
only a memory
that reminds me of loss.

There are fragments of me
woven into this tapestry
and unpicking them would be
a blasphemy,

when I'm history
you can read about me
free at the
public library.

unpicking the knitpicking
whilst knitting a pecker of a phallus

oh james i cannot tag your name this morning
in my thanks to you and i crack myself up

it is the way

never take it serious, this life
is all such a lark mainly

yesterday was such a day
with fettling and unpicking
the pallet and sawring it up
and spelling things incorrect
cos we can

it means the same

making a space come clear
imagining we are at chelsea
without the cranes and helpers

sitting on the grass until the bites overcome

watching him strimmimg the lane for the big
house
ready for the reopening
except we have no date
yet

mourning that the thistle and bindweed are cut
down

knowing i have a photograph
as i have those of him james

i like the number today
good in all respects i feel

i feel that we like the words the same
come thither, come random, moved
about with life
and details

he said he thought it would rain yesterday
and i told him i thought nothing
thought to wait and see
and found myself talking avidly about my bike
repairs
so worth finding it out

a topic
a project
the sculpture in the garden
to wheel in and out each day
counting

meanwhile james the seeds grow
and i gets smaller

stay safe

he said they have ordered take away sunday lunch with meat

oh james i cannot tag your name this morning
in my thanks to you and i crack myself up

it is the way

never take it serious, this life
is all such a lark mainly

yesterday was such a day
with fettling and unpicking
the pallet and sawring it up
and spelling things incorrect
cos we can

it means the same

making a space come clear
imagining we are at chelsea
without the cranes and helpers

sitting on the grass until the bites overcome

watching him strimmimg the lane for the big
house
ready for the reopening
except we have no date
yet

mourning that the thistle and bindweed are cut
down

knowing i have a photograph
as i have those of him james

i like the number today
good in all respects i feel

i feel that we like the words the same
come thither, come random, moved
about with life
and details

he said he thought it would rain yesterday
and i told him i thought nothing
thought to wait and see
and found myself talking avidly about my bike
repairs
so worth finding it out

a topic
a project
the sculpture in the garden
to wheel in and out each day
counting

meanwhile james the seeds grow
and i gets smaller

stay safe

he said they have ordered take away sunday lunch with meat

lots of lost souls
traumatised beings
polluted and infected
unstable and rejected

making the decision to remain comfortably numb
or deciding to seek change
they step into your office,
and finally step out of their pain

on the verge of breaking…
a warm, lilac, reassuring presence rests on their skeleton
natural, comfortable, strong and feminine
delicately unpicking their man-made wounds

and eventually assisting us to blossom, love and live
this wise woman is in motion
so much depth and guidance to give
your light is so bright, consisting of security and devotion

we’re all on our journeys out of the fog
knowing that it’s going to be spectacular
simplifying and remodelling our internal monologue
with your help, we will eventually regain our power

you value the whispers of each symptomatic soul
welcoming every single dynamic individual
some are so mild & timid
but some are so rock ‘n’ roll

thank you for taking the time
thank you for making me shine
i now know its ok to not ‘be fine’
i am so grateful for your ability to re-align

so thank you, for one last time

x