compendium


poem for dead love




mourns the tireless sea-searching-

winds across the strangled shrugged

moor



mortuary damp hairdo grasses

at the whim of aggressive-air-met-

fingers



hear the creak of a sign’s stubborn

hip where the words have almost

been taken



yawns from windows a sunset cornered,

baffles nocturnal watchers, silhouettes endure

tales



and stitch together laughter



ale wise lips stained by nicotine wretches

that weft and wear, bodies buRning always

thru’ their wicks



crackling wood capers



a stiff fox observant from the elderly mantlepiece

it’s seen so many rum scenes, wolf listening

for one so dead



fate is pulling at the hourglass of everyone

one is a car crash at three-in-the-morning

the headlights catch rabbit-eye-mirrors



that crippled tree grope where petrol now

seeps, cranial stars out of their skull’s hinge

tiny bursts of, then fades



back where dusk continually inhabits alcoves

sits with hands tight around a glass, it’s been

empty since last orders



he is eyesight thru’ that window pane wandering

where the crocuses comatose under, where



battalions of rooks are suits of soot bough and

branch, he is where initials were carved and



announced love, the wheat-less fields where

secrecy sometimes hid where the foliage



nudged, scarecrow brothers watching from a

distant hedge hard as crosses



often moonbeams spilt, often the other gave

serious thistle tremble where the gristle of



the heart sang out, has done so for a

calendar’s worth of troubled days



medicinal nowhere, and the rust sleeves

announce further crumble, like a tired



ruin upright trying



onlookers don't perceive the husk, hollows

full of un-returnable echoes acquire mountains



towards that shadow called home tho’

the night is filled with holes where the

stars are plugged into



like the holes that bury him so, bury

him oh so slow



hears the heavy breeze follow, cars

are being swallowed into



into the dark of another he wishes

into the bones of raw past



like being shivered upon, like being

ripped by thuggish tides, all eyes inward



there’s a ditch with an empty paraffin

can, a silent shoe, where the blackberry

pickers missed bruised globes



pieces of someone missing that wasn’t

or isn’t entirely him



pitch of a slid owl from twig into

uncertainty, into aim and howl



“i am” he thinks “not enough numb”

“nowhere gone enough”



lets rid these footsteps, their stride is

quite tired, sit awhile in the stench of ink



verges are being courted by cold, wants

to whiten him perfect stillness



breath excels out, it’s best to keep lonely



tomorrow has been had already and leans

ten minutes after midnight stale and stood



what is there to inflict in this time so future

given? are vacuoles for sharing? how

about no one and nothing is a road



for being nowhere upon, the blood

knows no direction and wants to

stall, to pause it’s pale rubble



what is a day to filled with? broken

bits of experience, piles of

minutes will horde them



tho’ the drone of a breeze unsettles

bramble stiffness, unsettles yearning

that only wants sleeping



daylight begins it’s startling swords

shrieks at the shadows that only

want to swill further and swarm



sees himself start to vanish

 



the whispering tree’s sudden, sullen hinge



i shall fray until memory

and your taint has gone,

daily in, daily out you

still drift the mind’s mouth



pushed thru’ the minutes that

grimace flavourless months, a

tourniquet of sutured clocks

a definite watch where the

tide won’t change



it’s thru’ waking, thru’ the

nourish of sleep’s inverted

mountains, comes like

stubbornness, like a shouted

thru’ eyelid unflinching



tear the spires you conspired

me thru’, burn the furniture

i became most, the blood

table, the witless chair,

dismantle everywhere i began



soon






perishes everywhere, everyone

expiry is upon every atom,

even the sun is tired hauling

it’s obese flame




whilst we are only dots in

entirely absurd vastness

we manage ourselves like

suicidal vests




days are diminishing quicker

than imagined, cot gazing

planets, childhood becomes

faster, exchanging proteins




then stood whilst mother is

being buried, all about grey

flags, escarpments looming

grief, pressing inward




middle aged crow can’t achieve

the bough, there’s no such

escalator towards the mistletoe

infected branch




sky’s are deader now, more

inclined to be thick and sturdy

muslin, greyer than a cough

the air is in a hospice




mornings are more stiffening

yet upright we go from the

stickiness that adheres such

dreams, wishing won’t let go




my pretend my surrogate

rainbow, pretty little mind

swarm when each glass

of clearness is drunk




nearing aren’t i? when the

clock heart chooses, when?

soon, when shall the clock’s

soul decide? when?




when shall rust be oiled anew?

soon comes that moment

when lonely thru’ shadow

soon is soon enough





not wonderful






days filled endless nothing wondering-theft-lost-bereft-love

whose to achieve me now? whose to glisten the summit?




“no one” shrieks the breeze at it frequently passes




fewer still will offer up their glances, none shall comfort

the empty bed sheets clean as their ironed arctic




“you’re on your own to count the creases”




days will drip from unturned calendar pages, that

yellow slow stain creeps from january’s corner




window unchanging has blades thru’, purely irritating

daylight shows dust in full on airborne dances




tomorrow’s bottles of sustained oblivion have been

drunk whilst afternoons are going over into dusk




this tattoo’s stealth is spreading blindfold bondage

seeps unseeing into all plausible rooms




i’m on the floor where it’s ink dark finds me,

fingerprints and limbs devoured




that final cave that deep deep deep hollow

excuse for a mouth takes the entire body




once beneath all those grimy atoms, lids

like tiny tombstones where quiet narrates




it’s corpse




i’m least understanding or caring where the next

breath will come from, hoping it doesn’t




daggers of traffic glutton what seems to be outside,

who would have thought such vehicles possessed




lightning




beams of, grenade their moonshine and reveal where

i am vaguely silhouetted, like something pinned




awaiting a surgeon’s casual dissection




there’s an audience, i can make out their rustling

throats and headfuls of accosted weather




assume the dye about is thick with rapist fingers

they attend to my stillness, reaching into with




black icy fingernails




a rag doll an emaciated scarecrow, scratch away

the harm that other’s have done, i’m far from




being numb




dig with vigour, expose charcoal inebriated secrets

spill their furled guts, all are clear white messages




i cannot manage hiding further as each ripped silence

is expelled




march deletes itself, later july tries summer




days entirely dissolve their lived in contents

and clocks are clawed with rigorous mortis




whose to find me sleeping now?





lilac swept







squeezed where i slept

anchors dragging as

worlds are put to pause,

“how deep are you?” asks

falling




“i’m a raindrop speeding

thru’ the precipice”




when spoken to, it was

mauve and the purple

studded hills invoked

soft red kites and childhood




“where are you now?” pry’s

watchfulness, “heading down

uncertain lanes of cinder

bleak dusk” i reply




it’s where sadness meanders

toiling it’s complete unfurl,

mostly regret supplies eyesight

backwards, those envelopes




of goodbye




i reasoned with being stood

but my shadow won’t stall




so it’s footsteps quicker into

the applause of becoming lost




whilst the moon hangs it’s

aspirin clear beams, wreckages

of light, jagged almost, i turn

under deep costly cottons




not finding the horizon i was

meant to stride towards





dreamiest







broken flowers begin

petals again

urging colours

thru’ multiple veins

disposes of rain and

head towards ether




towards atom dances

in amongst

the sunbeams,

repel the torn ravine,

drift upon the vulnerability

of sleep’s narcotic mountain




wings won’t allow plummet

won’t let gloom upset the

opal tide rhythm, wet with

whispers, wet with onset of

dew, sigh upon sigh shrugs

breath into shimmer-all swoon




come connect each eager root

where melancholia try’s to reach

and perform a stillness of statues

in amongst a lifetime’s hurtle, it’s

purple deep dusk won’t take,

soar with, become cranial comets




become quite otherness





knowledge







itemise lightning as

it takes, as it’s energy

inserts




complete

the circuit to the

protein genius




archives, oceans,

pages, all are lit,

rust withdraws older




submits to the rust coloured

hills when someday their

shadow will be overwhelming




until varicose, and seldom

becomes sudden, sodden

with forgetting




now is compilation

a gathering of endings

synapses arc seeable




glisten




suppose the seed held

to it’s secret, and the wind’s

moan was never deciphered?




why the heart beats so when

gladdened or the tear stricken

as it dries?




why the atom is, or archives of

silver toiled with drops, the tide’s

flotsam is kept




amend the footstep before it’s

meant




self







androgynous, without self




shapelessness yet a hole

neither feline nor masculine

shell




secretly yet clearly as a bell,

insincere




heavenly some think,

in truth a labyrinth kindly

signposted towards hell




i’m buRning in the

selfish corridors, well

lit up gods are only rooms




and i am all of them and

none




sometimes i’m footsteps

without root or inclination

to settle




there’s boredom

and it infects it brings dust

to lifelessness




once i was

nowhere and it felt good

love was neutral as a ghost




daren’t push thru’ it’s paper

white abdomen or else

nourish the blemish




but here, here is devilish

there’s taint there’s purity

attrition like an addicted




gulf stream, fragments are

dashed with mirrors, hints

of the person that is hid




the world’s great deception

deceive them deceive the

sunbeam it’s spill




truly, out there doesn’t have

the roots to find the blizzard

white room




i am residential

in it’s albino interrogation




inhabiting this sheer sea

of disturbed stars




mostly

damaged anchors and

synapse crackle




where’s

the radio of the mind?




every theatrical atom

i’m the weather of my own

rank geography




feuds of

fingers all in detrition combine

sinew to the creased sky




archives holler and compile

the grime of minutes, self

without self copy, yet




pure loneliness




where

strides of gazes contemplate

the bleak infinite shore




the length of a teardrop




aware of the nothingness

out there, it has tired-dropped-

thru’-windows




i’m crowded but

sincerely alone




seven headed nemesis







once

and the idea was caught

wanting the stickiness

of the net it was enthralled

to by it’s strangle, and those

rapturous veins ran entire

violet blisses as the pistons

urged on and tremble continued

thru’ out the nights demanding

precipice




second-

day came spent and spired and

bedclothes twisted dream like

into two figures snared by a

bleached phantom, and the

honey suture rose asking for

more fingers, thus resonance

began from bones thru’ into

rushing red cities




thrice

went falling, came upon me swooning

like a cliff fall or an elevator rocketing

downwards, i was made for ribcages

to smother, and so the airless cage

began




fourth-

kill came when the crease wasn’t right

or the taper of a curtain draped like

a dead arm and was stained




fifth-

hearse came a visiting when the bruise

extended into tiny pavements




six-

hits and i want to occupy the corner

where all spidery things are hid,

attempts were and gifts wrapped

in words, cajoling, trying to allow

me to walk upon the breakers and

the surf that knows only hostile shells,

thirteen minutes later was capsized

and an eye lit hostage




seven-

months of gripping the headboard

a nerve ending in flames, what should

have been seeded-silver-purely-

wonderful is wither among the stale

pillows, a tapeworm motorway for the

heart to be devoured with




the tornado burst in the room

smashed all that we grew

there’s petrol building it’s anger

his body in roots mine in a confiscated

noose, then sat closest the floor

nearer hell i suppose




the tinderin’ king







sung to by childhood’s rhyme

it’s rhythm roots, suggests to the

cot, departure, to leave the cotton

careful instructed womb




then was unfurled to straighten,

out into grim gleamed light so

loved never forsaken, a secret

yet woken in membrane welfare




finger-traces of adoration, time does

it’s whine-withering-lifelines,

days undo one another’s futures

passing poorly timetabled seasons




asleep there in slovenly architecture

in my complex city, a switch or hinge

or lever, melodic cells multiply as if

asked by fruition to perform faster




melancholy has no touch here no

obligation to grieve, everywhere

simply is child-like-wonder-full-

stories, adventures in contraband




boxes that could be pirate ships




or a tortoise den no troll or under-

the-bed-monsters could

contrive to storm, sometimes a

castle without lady gwineveres




or cocoons of sheer sugar, high

as the horror films daren’t watched

unless hid and furtively glimpsing,

until bedtime patrols reluctance




then thirteen, and the playground

quickens where once carefree hollers

now proteins thicken and that guide to

the blood’s source acts out templates




acts outs it’s manufacture, there’s

discipline in the precise red raw

clock, a conveyor belt of gargoyles

a dreadful wet yet greasy shiver




i’m slivers of being reworked, and

tended to by no one, childhood prisms

derelict, no longer visited,

out-of-sort-shapes, there’s kindling




and it’s rigorous flame has begun,

attention now magnetised, reels and

roars, inside and under are symphonies

commanding skin comments further attrition




of atoms that want out of their comets,

the window’s attire of jagged clowns

that fearful religion towering over like

a ridiculous claw eradicating all




school becomes a summit, a stiff

peak that is glassy to reach, an alchemy

was occurring amongst verbal aim

and hierarchy of waspishness




half hourly murders and flies continue

their playground music, lords of

brutality that finds it’s way into

homework graffiti, a loose mask




a well worked gallows made of school

ties, hang me there awhile to be

watched at and jeered right thru’,

daily crows are alighting the boughs




brambles are outright thugs, so is the

heart sometime i guessed when it’s

shallow muscle was squeezed and

love fell upon it’s quicklime sword




adolescent burials are on mass like

impatient winters ensnare breathes,

i watched shapeless years once vast

vanish into the watches that created them




tinier now than when lived in, time is

smudged faster and those pubic fumbles

i daren’t grasp became fewer and fear

resided the shoulder, desire smouldered




and that root buRnt low and struggled

attrition against gasp against sadness,

this mouth was meant for love but it’s

hollow shall receive only cold abandon




i’m thru’ with the tantrums of spring and

how desire made worsening of blood

feel, there’s temptation and it lures like

magnets, makes surroundings drunk




and so the months trawl revolutions of

very incomplete circles, some days were

corpses where no light was allowed,

where the assembly of starlings




were heartless bound, that inelegant knife

of morning often found most vulnerable

a host to the strangled sheets about,

here that loneliness offering was made




stale and all without the shared stains

of someone else, some roads aren’t

meant for travelling no matter future

enticement, only collapsed elbows




and disinterested skulls primed with blank

waiting for a promise that will never unhinge

from it’s sincere beige bud, so here’s another

christmas suffocation, 53 in all so far




not one edible snowflake, no suitor to map

those likeable streets upwards into glisten

where the buzz of harps come like grenades,

whose to discover the river that yearns tending?




i’m that king in an anaesthetic rub down in

a pile of numb this kingdom of plagiarised

bones and gropes, waiting for fingerprints

to lodge their leftovers, the queue out there




is none




heaven







oh sweetly swoons into the pith of

his moans, adult muscles dare each

piston, acquire that sigh that says

bliss is red-rushing-sky-lids




outside is

miserable-ism,

unacceptable dirges




here moons over blushes intentionally

growing them, tending to their blood

written voices, touches are and the

heart gallops




pigeon entrails tiny skipping ropes

where feline knives entangle, the

sill is witness to such ripping




an errant beam of pouring has

almost fingers, has the way lit

into your eyes, into your violet

motorway




that the body should lay there in

blissful rubble, aliquots of shudder

ease and are fading




where turquoise should be grey

and stubborn rain now fills the

wheres of every, such that minds

are wetly trodden




like cadavers with slit grins

resting against stained pillows,

what rubescent energies have

been taken out of them?




whilst ashes fill up outside

where the greyness sullen king

resides, we are heavenly and

full of holes

Make a free website with Yola