Bodies Broke

Standing there on the twisting stairs,
legs wrapped around the banister
The cocked head leaning back,
throwing out your lonely stare.

A thousand bored nights wrapped
in your tight shawl of love and despair
Oh the pity just seeps off you, the
cold skin of a thousand frustrations.

It just makes it worse than I could care
But I still stand fixed with a potent glare.

Lips like fat potato chips, the body
dysmorphia can’t do more for you,
than I think that I thought we could
together, riding this wave of gigantic…

This wave of gigantic love that truly
fucked us up, spit and spat us out,
until we couldn’t give what was demanded
We were remanded, deported and resorted
to the horrors of the night.

The golden hair clumped in my right hand,
served as a fine reminder of a fairer time
Cast against the natural light, we dreamt
it could last always, but DSM-5 taught
me who was really alive.

(It was you and not I)

Caged room, the small ceilings always
find us kneeling, giving way on bended knees
Our deserved regression an assigned session
despite our former air of a passion kindled,
heated to intense temperatures.

Stepping up the stairs, I can see your green eyes
that silken purple dress which makes me quiver
against the oak and how I wish I’d had a toke,
but we crashed and careened as one, bodies broke.

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Holiday Wishes

Give me a sign so I can start the healing,
We shared the wine around the yearly meeting.

As I don’t want to be lonely this holiday,
I’m taking off my shoes and giving my body to the homeless.

I’d give you my remaining years to be alone with you, for a minute of your time,
To give you one last kiss goodbye and a warm embrace under the leaf dappled light.

Journal 10/09/15

Every night the front cover of my diary asks me ‘Who are you?’ and every night I struggle to articulate myself, to justify myself to myself.  Lyric after devastating lyric falls from the speaker and I want to share this moment with you, I want to bask in the radiance of your love for this artist.  I find myself driving along at night knowing that if I don’t take the turn off for home, I will not ever stop this journey north. The trumpets herald, but I am not sure what they signify.  I miss you.  Will this job ever end, will I ever escape this office?  How do I break free of my own body.  What are those birds thinking, soaring so high in the sky, eyeing each other, safety in numbers perhaps?  The land meets the sea, the sea meets the sky, the sky holds the stars.  Everything that has ever lived, nearly everything that has ever lived, is here on this planet, on this pinprick in the sky.  Where have you gone though, when will I cross that eternal divide?

I miss you.

This is the thought that is at the forefront of my thoughts, that one that pervades the bitterness of being here, of comforting your family when all I want is to say how much I loved you to you directly.

I miss you.

Did I ever mourn my lost family members enough?  Should I feel guilt now, why has this struck me so hard?  Why does this artist so move me to tears nearly every day.  Their music touches me like nothing else, a lightening bolt connecting the living and the dead.  I hate and I love.  I just want to say to my father, to my mother, hold me.  Hold me.  I miss you.  My elbow is dirty again, how can I scrub so hard yet it not get any cleaner?  I can feel the metal attached, drilled deep into my bones.  I can feel the plates and the rods pressing against my skin, the metalwork that keeps me standing and grounds me, that completes my alien body amongst this landscape of beauty, this hidden careworn ugliness.  I am jealous of your walk in the woods, your walk up the hills, your walk down the concrete slabbed route to town.

I miss you.

What is death when life is complicated enough.  What is life when death is eternal.  The great divide, never knowing just what it is that separates this from that.

2 Minute Poem

Chairs or spiral stairs, hair stands on end at the thought of them.
Hands grip the sides ever tighter,
As I gasp for breath, feeling ever lighter.
I’ve changed so many times I’m not even sure
where I’m meant to sit, not even sure of my
place in this ever lasting race.
—-
I just want a comfy chair, computer set up
the way it should be, the way it could never
be, as if I were to sit still in silence, the music
still blaring.
Instead I curse the empty air as, once
again, my pattern changes, new dangers arise –
Are they an officer, an assessor?  What can I say or
cannot say in front of them?
Does it matter, are we ever really in one
place forever or are we always racing against the tide of change?
 —

The Corridors of Power

Tasks are always taxing,
Unless you’ve got greying hands and an unsteady shuffle
In which case you ignore them and secretly deplore them.
But you carry on regardless, steamrolling
Through the corridors of the company,
Your own private land of claims
Disregarded and abandoned,
Like so many lovers before you.
But now the sun is setting
On a broken dream of what could be.

The tasks are always taxing,
But they always wait their turn.

Reprise: An Experiment. Part II.

~ Running in the night , screaming at the light

of a thousand stars dying and the all engulfing love

and tyranny

of skin on skin ~…

…~ Of memories long since buried

beneath the ocean of the beloved

that haunt

me still ~…

…~ Pain is pleasure and pleasure is

gained through the experience, but

there is nothing

and no-one ~…

…~ We are the sum of all we are,

what bullshit do we seek, when

thrills, high or low, can be found

on every corner street ~…

Do words mean anything when there is no context, no fabric into which they are weaved?  Are they meaningless if they are spoken to the ether, scored into the sky, taking no physical form nor permanency?

Seventeen Fifteen

Raised up, head on pillow. Eyes closed and jaw slack.

Firelight creeping up the wall, midnight

falls across the land.  Tears stain each and every pillow.

~
One last year to see it in,

one last year to see it out.

~
A round white mint, given to both

child and animal alike.  Each drawing on the sugary

energy that bursts forth.

Closed eyes and a smile drawing across the lips,

that devilish chocolate kiss, which

flooded a child’s mind at Christmas time.

~
The wind that shakes the barley,

the heart that skips a beat,

knowing that you won’t be here today

or tomorrow,

to meet for one last treat.

Dark Nights, Darker Days

The city of dreams,
This is the city of my nightmares.

The city of my last love,
This is the city of a thousand cold hard stares.

I can’t breathe, but
I can see what
(I think) is all around me.

The city has me in a
Choke hold and it ain’t
Letting me breath.

Let me go, just let
Me go.

I scream to mangled foes,
Whilst all I get is broken bones,
Blow after blow.

In this city of spite,
There is no respite.

I don’t need to be free,
I just need to be.

Dispatches From The Coast: Quick Scribbles

There is nough so fair or ought so glum as word in print, prose or poetry,

Nothing harder won or bitter swon as a pill laced with poison.

The writer knows that his work carries less weight than the ink of his print,

Poison pen be it, subsistence by thought alone a long gone dream.

Oft gang aft aglay, even as we pray, wish and hope.

Wry smiles and token gestures seal naught but the contract,

empty of pennies as thy purse brims with hope.

Be here men and women, the thoughts of the many,

Dashed upon the rock of modern prose poetry.

Sinking further into a cold hearted coffin, nay thought spared for the writer.

Indifference strikes the many as disease did carry,

Those weakest, those first that voiced their opinion, on their shoulders be it.

Even as we swim, current against tide, sway even as we may

Dream –

Hold our heads high –

Even as our murky scribblings and manuscripts –

Sink beneath the wave of indolence, of innocence, of ignorant hearted bliss. (Try not).

I type these words with blood between my fingers,

Flowing over knuckle, bone and skin.

We have denied the value of the writer even as we write ourselves,

We have paid a penny more for our open grave.

Individual we stand,

But communal we fall.