become pages


 swept






incite circles

to expel lines,

maelstrom muddle

an insert of gales



stood if

standing could be

achieved, atoms

blown off mountain peaks



sloth is

rushed at

with hurry,

rid me of death



no sleep is

permafrost deep,

allow the roots

to waspish struggle



exact quiet

is roared,

no leaf is statue

on each bed



cacophony

numbs the violets

as they appear

purple noises



throw honey to

the stars,

there is nothing poised

but to flower fling



lungs have

turned outwards,

glistening

freedom



imbue

slumber

residue

to free fall



thru' gloss horizons

hearts re-petal taken to

perform such colour

unseen before



swept



towards ending






silence

is a sound,

a softened noise

it's stillness aches



the wall fastened

clock has stopped

persistence

reminding



snowflake circles

the past

of copious days

spilt



the meadow is

faded and

sunsets build

into draped ashes



the listener

forsakes voices on

tape, delete such

eased vocals



if perfect falling

is to sleep,

grey gauze thumbs

the conscience



and ether is paused,

no exhale

but scattered letters

in small written fonts



reformed rapture






thought you gone

caressed away by a nineties storm

and kissed thru' with

lightning swords



cascaded skies

and deleted applause

an echo into selfish

oyster withdrew



misfortune brought

upon sorrowful wings

a womanly form

frozen in a mortuary robe



bells drop, invite silence

birds ruin every song,

each heart gave up belonging

a noose carved in swans



sought decay, decadence

listened to glistening dragons

soaring abandon on tracks



moth made heirlooms

so surreal

imperfect sculptures

unfinished how i feel



so slides in moonbeam pulses

and rainbows gape wide

gild me with your separating sighs



it was the decade that broke

and left love hollowed out

curled into the frost of a peculiar rose



now bare of bones

and trumpets persist

to moan, each hybrid

clone in danceable

squadrons perform the

same ghost



each copious muse hangs

from their possessed idol,

like necks from a bough

incest copies itself



i thought wounds over grown

and tuneless whispers upon winds,

annoying harps and bellowing

anorexic sleeves reissued for resale



a phantom of romance

i met her once

stood upon flattened pines

her gaze one of blades



she sang into my heart

made it stiff with loveliness

and cut the roots from

each and every crocus



archives burst

and cymbals sliver

musical serpents



this mind

dewdrop drips,

ill met kisses

nectars the walls

inside of dream houses



by a frozen midair sigh

icicle words and

hitchcock ism

suspicious alongside



now the rivers run riot

and angels pissed on the wing,

be gone from lamenting

a thorn re-risen

and statues model



unbury the hidden,

turn up the vinyl's scratches

and disturb ravens from

their gothic skies



bluish blink capsule






what you perceive as loneliness

and holes to swallow horizons

is a capsule self made sunshine



swoon you others in orchestrated

sleeps when waking is being dead,

and swarms are being copied to replace



everyone else by name



i am not near to affection or robust

sexual allegiance, defy the gravity of

popular existence



habitual ether has it's own suffocation

i like mine without a sky or interrupting

voices



of silence i am rapt by it’s graveyard gossamer,

archives of who i've touched and who

i've owned, all vanished rainbows now



immerse this slow adult dive, into a

shroud of complicated fingers no

observer will unravel



you think jagged, a winter of my own

making, no amount of gloom is worth

the sorrow i roam



but i think smooth, of buds i tend to

burst against the greyness, admire

summer with a longing for shade



lost







there is a road

gazed left

the right of which

secures notice



signposts are

stood people in

their vast

rusts



up to the throats

with treacle

meniscus's



stood in

separate

gazes, rapt in dark places



to go is

to be gone,

a clock snatched

is a lifetime



not where you think

the horizon is, i am that

shadow behind me



which turn to roam

a motorway of leaf churns

or a deceptive lane of dusk



rooted ceiling,

bed's where sleep falls

a skyless floor



numb feelers

are folk too bored
to yawn



holes for loneliness

to take hold of

like senses torn between two seagulls or numbed with tequila



the month the yuletide bringer brings


how many sleeps

before expectant faces?

dull trees become

sudden constellations



countdown calendars

hurtle, what's behind

each chocolate window?

a snowflake collar or



abundant reindeer?

there's bobble hats with

miniature gloves, but some

hearts still instigate their own frost



pinched rosebud cheeks

and cinnamon daubed air,

too many mouths

are coveted by scarves



dilated blood

excitable childhood

glimpse white magical

beards



copious mistletoe stunts

upon ceilings, whose to approach

opal perfection?

the dusk of his shyness



there are chestnut counters

and stollen larders,

baubles of stupefying colours,

glitter, twinkle this onto forever



pocket full of snow






now that scarves

announce to necks

inclement weather



easy rust blushes thru'

branches, litter your

incoherent handprints



for lovers

to wade thru' or

strolling to ignore



gone

gruesome slit pumpkins

sill posing



gone

bonfire gazes and

firework entrails



cheerful shelves

appear christmas

by tinsel stealth



glitter, seas the aisles

seizes every childhood sparkle,

cashier swarmed tills



multi-coloured full stops

possess trees, punctuate

thru' out night's cinderous seep



blazed bulbs like possessive

hedonistic fairies all manner

of iridescent rainbow



think cinnamon edges

nutmeg swirled foams,

children lit up anticipation



written and lists glittered

with the latest absolute want,

dispatched for the arctic post



and the sloes have gone,

and what requires silence

is deep to crocus slumber



those arms, those steep

but crooked fingers

grip with winter



crows about the cripple

bare orchards, scented pines

stood indignant green perfume



foragers nuzzle worm

entire empires, such

squigglers are beyond roots



mulled warblers make

crimson music, achieve

the commercial heart



husbands entangle one

another "gift-scared-

in-the-chandeliers"



panic tastes, floors

are fraught with

pointless antlers



frost nipped rose bud chasers

red mittens up to wrists,

chestnuts auburn croak over

festive fires crackle choirs



whose for advocaat

coloured hangovers?

sti collectors in

deeply autumnal parties



rich with too much cheer

overdosed satsuma armies?

think those wreathed by war

or body bag incoming



those that are stalked

by themselves, or sore

from loneliness, exact

mirrors triumph dying



whose suffering are you

thinking when three

courses later drowned under

asti spumante?



december's indulgence

a near panic of parcels,

precise ribbons, a precise

constellation wreath and hue



attach the air with

excitement, eve of,

expectant windows

expect snowflakes



wishes constant

about sleighs, will

laughter holler down

cream dispensed slopes?



none so white will fall,

reindeer magic gone, and

january will have consequences

white miserly edges



ink bury




plath

why were you

so bee enthralled?



did you want to

wing with them?

be the ingot of

the african swarm?



byron

why ink yourself

hades?



or become

the devil's

shoulder?



cemeteries of talent

for the crows to

wander across

for the seasons to unburden



how many pages deep are we?

thinner than a sea or higher than

a mushroom's lid?



meniscus walkers

drown easy,

why are dreamers

the most envied?



gleam collectors

of their hurt,

penniless in

forsaken archives



some openly waltz

into coffin ownership

taking with them

dark hidden mortgages



whilst others are soaring

some refuse blank paper,

refusing empty doors



why wait for nothingness to

exact, blandness is king

and unique is a dead thing



splintered stage, shadows do

have us take shape

word pyres a twilight poem

cut from chrome inspiration



if i stayed am i to be unwritten?

who notes the passing stream

it's gargle of prisms?



or the person that has been a statue for

46 years watching the sky's increasing

blemish?



so words are taken and remade

some are derelict or copied from another

poet's voltage, some are unworthy of

the fire that thought them into being



how many pages are we?

none for turning

or volumes taking lifetimes to reach



where the defeated lay

pens inverted or

nibs pointed elsewhere



so swallowed that the skies

are empty and unsuccessful

as a seed given cement



ourselves






against the rust of

our lives

fingerprints of fading



we breathe against

the tide

a fearsome sigh



watching the vanishing

spires

approach mood worrying skies



we thought ourselves

limitless, roads of endless

footsteps to travel



but it’s us who unravel

losing atoms of ourselves,

and the sun strewn lanes



are buried by the covet of frosts



remember ourselves

whitening, yesterday’s

filled with drifting



windows are mirrors our

prisons, too many books

of unmemorable pages



ourselves amongst

the quickly sliding minutes

a-whisper-went



maybes seldom are






impossible

my implausible

gaze takes you in



worsens thirst

into hasty atoms

a still white sea



sculptures of ocean worth

foam heads all porcelain

sobbed planets yearn



words will keep

and secrets won't

unfurl



remain re-hidden

beyond these

traced lips



if i offered summer

about my rose hips

are you the aphid swarm to secure it’s liquor



to give me soot collars?

your colourless nectar

deeps for narrow roots to exist



perchance to

whiten rainbows

to interrupt my bed



will you interrupt me?



the heart is

under icicle

threat



maybes can

happen but

never here



take breezes by their sighs

undo the nettle from it's spear,

why is everything

nothing my everywhere



without you near



seldom glances

appear to

glimpse this way



clandestine squalls of

opal-ness, careful-furtive-

voltages



why is the horizon

so distant now

where you stand silhouetted tree



maybe

but never does

no promise yields it's clenched bud



seldom the river eases

slow

for the meniscus to become a mirror



you will catch my gaze there

a glance of forever

thru' the torrents of swirled-silver-creases



bury me

in your deep swollen hair

forgive me if i stare



for such perfection

does not statue in

my usual direction



pale wished skies

all startling confusion

silence entangled bramble thick reach



so many are stood uneven

stood upon broken kissing

many are too drowned to stand



maybe

if you were the

honey of what i meant



the sugar intruder

tall petals and a

waist to make the kingfisher dive into



deeper blisses



but that loneliness

that bright hot thorn

i am inseparable from these days



i have become



clock deep

and wasted with

yesterday's wither



a diary spills

blank pages



a certain sleep

will be the finite of me

assured as maybe can be



twinkle






hear the grass coerced breezes

like slender paper fingers,

a paused sky

resembles glitter



i cannot be this dusk

anymore,

there are more slopes

to travel



january, an anniversary

about to re-happen

a wield of sadness

about to begin



where all crow wings gather

crowded ashes,

i think purely

sunshine



the horizon you

stand upon,

i see you not lonely

but of light



i cannot gaze far enough

or without thought reach

but time will surely yield me

to stroll that very porcelain beach



i glimpse you in the half

quiet silhouettes

or in sleep’s spiral of

forgetfulness



by that childhood bough

where youth takes me,

abstract windmills

liquorice sails



strawberry convincing hedges

mauve manoeuvres

where the blackberries want

autumn as forever



“soon my son”

when days unravel

and clocks become

unworthy



peace will infuse

the seas to your blood,

until them my love

i watch from silhouetted aether



proud of how your stood

no flag will tear you down,

soon the whisper shall

be met as one



and boughs full constellation

sparkle,

trace your aim to the brightest sky

that’s where i am



watchful like a

protective lullaby



when someone loved perishes






into reflection

stir

this gaze of

discordant mirrors



reveal your sighs

of soaring birds

glancing from the

azure peak




too much silence

wakes, sadness

roots in acorn

spaces



too much a sea

the rust of grief,

dismantle once

spilt ashes



into possession

of quiet

into muffled

distilled glistening



too much dew

becomes a spire

into the torn

few



who resides

dark obliterated

horizons? the roar

of dusk is forever



ink myself away






daylight seems borrowed

and the minutes stray

leaking from the clock's

abyss without restraint



on hours like these

and there are many

wish the ceiling

around me



and the white pieces

stay unwritten

where the gaze should

be filled with rain



no flowers ease thru'

these burst of

albino pages,

no seed to start the root



days are hourly

and pass away

eager to flee

the silent body



i fill myself with

petals, with indistinct

fur, mauves and hollered

reds but white ink



is the poet’s hesitation

and whitens further disgruntle

a mocking snow no word will

adhere



precious






beneath shadowy

tree

a serenity

of cobwebs glisten

as if the heavens

spared a galaxy,

such beauty is

paleness before gleaming



stir up

the horizon

of bee gold,

no opaque winter

would collapse this smile



a tiny sea

a dewdrop breaker

shivers me,

moonbeams

wash over sleep



where i kiss

constellations

diminish,

contours sigh about

ether



heartache loses it’s vast grimace,

an inert of

planets

become

sudden wonder



my bliss

patrols whispers

of conjured seeds,

orchid sculpture loses form

glancing off your dew lit back



above the brow

of moonlit hill

tranquil before

a shrill world

infected by pity and stealth,

you make the avalanche still



make me quiet as

a heron’s trance upon

water, guiding fathoms

into passion performing

grasses, instill your

gorgeous synapses



beneath the snow affected

ceiling

a soliloquy

a tremble of

uncertain tides,

where stares wander

loneliness

anticipating fathomed emptiness



hid





to open is to

bleed the inner

out as if blood

is shouting



my reds,

my magenta

are secrecies hid

prying won’t accomplish



i could be the

surface you want

me to be different under,

come claim my blushed coral



my aquamarine slant,

alert when closeness

is nearly, think me drowned

when it’s you submerged



those that endeavour

find energies can’t and

marital urges spent of

want, bludgeoned



daresay in my head



there’s trouble under

vitriolic sheets where

the snowflake palaces

reek of too much sleep



you won’t access

my concealment and

atoms, they are welded

certainty to a lie



eyes appropriate the

kind of winters that

aren’t looked into,

few are seldom



some acquire the

litmus to my mind’s

geographical stem, none

find the colour of my quiet



none shake the cathedral’s

stained stance, all the

nakedness and stupidity of

thighs won’t elaborate desire



you try cut paper

blondes and slim male

dragonfly’s, all with

mermaid tempting zips



i want none of it



i am cormorant

wielded sky arc

for all fleeting glances

to source, to forget



exist

in

clandestine

disappearances



below wrists

are exact storms

unifying night into

unreadable bruises



the godly hiss

applauding the exorcist

to pluck out

silhouettes quicker



but my seas are

clever, it sighs

backwards no explicit

fingers can remove



black narratives





morning insists

upon it’s knives, creeping

diseased inches



gloom

is nuisance

to the bright hearted



gloom is

suicidal dirges,

come let horizons fall



dwindles those

in charcoal

mood



disciples to

their own frayed

nooses



sunshine

hurts every kind

of shadow



it’s dusk later strides

and is bold to interpret

wrists



departure is

soon to nail the

clock’s stubborn entrails



face lit stupor

observes rain

thumb the window panes



ashtrays

of smiles,

discarded nectar



all of them



disposable

tomorrows are

always in the bottom of



the drunk glass



upright hearses

complete the

dream’s task



following fucking

circles, twist yourself

the same dead hours



tide’s coming fast all

broken dissatisfied

butchered wings



there’s an upturned

cot of childhood sighs,

a man with a drowned in look



sheer edges are for

falling from, see the many

slow diving butterflies die in gasps



enough to outnumber

autumn’s handprints,

countless as the shingle shore



i sit squandering minutes

trying to swallow them,

entire clocks kill lifetimes



there’s a voice with splinters

in it’s slick tongue, enthrals

footsteps further to sink



not yet quite numb, the

devil is greasing the road

we all travel upon



stood up drowned





we all want out

of our skulls,

absinthe wednesdays

and thursday ruin



the weekend’s here

for obliteration, i’m

down the stem of

another glass



another day of

white out, numb

strides take me

from difficult mornings



ablaze mind where

the earthquakes

happen, i’m three

inches over the ravine



that terrible comet

like most humans i

abhor is bright as

a halogen seizure



haphazard minutes

like jugular traffic, i

seldom feel my own

heart in smothers of



black, disinterested petals

and there the blight of

longing grows like a movie’s

sinister suspense



it’s at the shoulder of my

troubled resonance like

a greedy tide towards my

existence



loneliness is a watchful

gargoyle, it stalks the panther

sleek evenings, patrols the

afternoon like a sullen lynx



upon the bland staring

ceiling heavy as a snow

scene, a voyeur narrates

stranded and isolation



we all want time to

proceed faster to find

our bones have exceeded

their calcium boroughs



and naught is the glance

beyond the footsteps that

brought me here, we are

all stood up drowned



slowing the pendulum





blood don’t

count these

bored heartbeats



blood hastens

blood always

to arrive



destination to

achieve circles

comets at the lung



still if you will

your rouge,

how many horizons



have disassembled

to ruin, bring atoms

back to their cease



applause with stillness

lay among slowing

moving wreathes



melodies of echoes

where yesterday’s

sanctuary belongs



don’t disturb the

mirror’s wisdom

with occult rain



prefer now stood

in dusk and it’s

dark rapport



like a mind’s deep

in a glove, a

smothered alcove



blood you have too

much of the sea’s

sway, too much tide



you roar and pull

rocks apart and

shout thru’ the aorta



come dispel your

seethe, let this river’s

intention lull to a crease



come collapse the

statues, let the heart

rid it’s drumbeat



infatuation




we could have

met, we could

have been dna

mirrors



a copy of snakes

enthralled in

one another’s

soot gaze



a reflection upon

disturbed waters



we could of been

the perfect balm

for each soul’s

ache



we could have



when the

trees become

splinters



when mountains

return to pebbles

return to ions



and the sea’s

voice is taken,

the storm’s blow



turn it’s weather

meant vengeance

into docile sighing



when the lion

returns its prey,

heals the hurt of



being maimed



this uncharted

horizon isn’t

happening



tho’ it’s pall is

bright and severe

with want



I am agile to

your bones

and blisses



i would have

been continued,

ten thousand



snowflakes for

being swallowed



our drowning rapport

amongst the tender

swaying nerve endings,

words become voltage



word blazes, and skin

tongue written upon,

ensnare me with the

dew of your coarsing



mesmeric tides of

pure undulation, i

could keep dead

here



intuitive thru’ out

blood’s asking



i’ll never populate

disappointment




dwindler




kingdom

blankness,

a deaf

page where

winter gowns



or blood white

milk, where the

moon has it’s

arctic spilt, or

albino mountain peak



an entire sleep a

whiteness in amongst

the snowflake slow

blindness, an unseen

sky no ink traverses



an idea has no

crocus to build

or root to stir

outward into,

thirst is, but no throat



and the gossamer

spaces shift, the flame

won’t exact it’s gift, and

the shore is desperate

with sketches of wings



traces of which are

taken as if such

charcoal-sung-thru’-

ribs did not exist,

imbalances of sighs



are glimpsed




futureful




follow me

the minute

said



do not let

the stealth

of winter



collect you

in it’s death,

there are roads



to unfurl, and

horizons to

aim into



and with




where from here?




don’t despair

for where will

that gloom

introduce you?



tho’ bleak is

the brow upon

the saturated

many



and lifetimes

are surrounded

by un-illustrated

bare and sharp



mountains



that shadow

should decide

your footstep’s

outcome



even from the

cot time is

exhausting and

watches wither



there are too

numerous

directions, and the

compass confused



should the skies

be paused, and

wings made to

quiet?



should the hum

of blades and

other such grasses

become stillness?



seeds told to stop

their necessary

reaching, buds

reverse their burst?



you cannot command

the air’s whisper or

the tide’s mismanaged

shore




no one notices dead clocks




do you

see in

silences



involved in

the murmur

of death



or the squat

of fingers that

take all gasps?



the air

stillness is

made up of sighing



and tiny

lightnings

scratching away atoms



what quiet

is found is

a ravine quite empty



sit among the

adder blacks

and pitch of muffled



lonely as a feather

mute upon an

abandoned spider’s web



lie back amongst

wet handprints

where fungi observe



and the collars of

bats ensure

permanent dark



there’s a strange

sea rattling above,

gaseous seethe of eyes



the rain that seeks

to drop is only

heart meant



it has no glisten

and sadness as

a crevice



solid walls of

grimace, crouching

shivers like eerie resonance



and the inches get

deeper in their swallow,

up now to the neck



there’s falling with no

floor met, keep on like

a broken comet



where the prowls of

others glow concern,

sticky in their glances




can’t





don’t want tomorrow to

be a mirror of the past

where routes are most

thick and traveled often



thru’ out daylight’s tired

mask i don’t commit to

those minutes given but

think in quiet slivers



nowadays there is much

to rot about and fall whilst

being stood, falling is

easier as older hills



come into view, where

eyesores still boast, the

sky now is dirtier and full

of melancholy blows



consider myself to the tide’s

process amongst the room’s

grey clothes, rain is always

window bound, cries wet fingers



too deep now to underneath,

subterranean to the sighs

being blown, drift thru’ the

headless grasses made to groan



there is a starless above where

winter holds full claim, and letters

i wrote drip off pages, their love

won’t come again



yet yesterdays are awoken and

the bud i ripped and hid, it’s

memory colour is never far

from it’s hinge of remembering




an inert gasp





dreary

wash over me

a thousand of

your dead

despairing

sundays



eyes aren’t

lit and the

horizons that

cross them

perforate with

distance



has winter

come so soon?

like a devil

concerns it’s

gaze over

cots



how heavy the

air feels like

too many lungs

have been borrowed,

accompanied by too

many loving shadows



they infuse the

sky’s hope with

further dread ink,

and steal away

my fingerprints,

edges falling from



like deft rain




where is supposed to be?





i’ll not wander far

until the horizon greets me,

each path has footsteps gone

with a shadow’s silk upon



against the last hour of sunbeams

a slow easy river slides

a stir of mirrors passing



i’ll not be long

until time is done,

the direction of one’s own blood

has it’s own lifeless pond



view the disappearing curlews

each alone upon their strange song,

mermaids slide strangers beneath seaweed thumbs



succumbed and gone




nearly april





buds that should drip with

molten skirts are nodules of watchful

quiet over mortuaries where

the seldom hares grope thru'

the anaemic stricken grasses



a sold sun strangled with aeroplane

vapours insists it was warm once

elders would grieve for a suntan,

icicles stoop the newborn's fingers

trying to root past the hedgehog corpses



gnawed cripples with fierce teeth

winter has thrown it's dentures,

wrapped it's blue mouth around each

waking, putting back those stirring

into cadavers, into cemetery statues



oh sky take away your thunderous bruises

sick of wet kingdoms, floored with

drowned fish, and cold so cold comes to

collect the lung's song of pneumonia,

and the fields are back combed with rot



gaunt ploughs idle in their rust attire like

sickened bronze ribcages, anxious starlings

will not settle there even if rooks are upon them,

massacred orange skulls litter their soft

squashed innards a local kill for maggot empires



these hinged bleached commas, albino

exclamations are few for rank sucker,

preferring elsewhere where the stagnancies

are tropically better, so the eyeless roots

gather much mulch and sit like rude spheres



sutured windows are grimaced at by howling

movements of shrieked air rid of itself from the coal less

north, childhood widows play at cobwebs

wasting as the minutes surface

watched skeletons chafe the panes



seized buds shrink and will not announce spring

their shrunk hope withers as the rains

lash and the hailstones turn swine mud into

pearl coffers, the cuckoo has been strode upon

and subdued to a bundle of worthless feathers




movement of circles





grasses mute throated

stillness, apologetic

trees ready to

cripple their colours



another mask wearing

october arrives

cobweb stealth, lifetimes

follow death observed roads



clocks know no truce,

blueness is the morning i

wake in, waking is being

are suicidal cells elaborating



i used to be fond of

circles, this one is loathed



another wednesday, another

root stops drinking,

wonder has left me

another yawn to fake in



and those that have

spires for dreaming are

someone else's fingerprints

a plagiarism of geometry



and the stood yearn to

lie in sleep's forever,

wonderful is yawned opaque

and bored pauses



heavy skies feel fallen

and calendars tire being

looked at, another day becomes

it's ghost



anonymous woman

pneumonia has her lungs,

the sea is taken

from brutal breath



this particular circle is rendered

cut into sparse, disposable lines



i drift my hours drift

among them, a broken

petal in a slow grimaced

tornado



grey architecture of air

mouths filled with interference

everywhere autumn draped

lidded minds in suicidal residence



a man about to archive

resents sunbeam entry

removes entire skies

with a funeral suture



this roam i have achieved

before but the wealth of webs

attire me more and become

wet sullen robes



days dead to me

a daily cemetery,

i'm regular carbon

awaiting deconstruction



one owner of

stupor, of bored dna,

repossess the past

with frozen illustrations



that horizon boasts

golden, where stars

appear chrome and

neatly folded



gaunt windows blemish

this gaunt day,

another circle

to wander



i'm tired of such

circular motorways,

the same old copied sunshine

coloured crematorium ashtrays



the sky heavy still

pushes down with blunt

shoulders, pushes down

upon thirst



i am built of circles



my favourite chloroform

to ease by such spheres,

repeat when

the alarm clock screams



another honeycomb

of temptation

to find that temptation

is a politician's lie



so full of circles, i've had my fill


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