glyphs and glimpses

 

sought



seeking but

roads

are bare



and trees

lonely, still

greyness is lonelier



we curl into,

oyster in situ

solitude



and wait

whilst borrowing

from next year



seek but

no echo no

reply responds



why are we

achieved? a cellular

ask of full archives



i’ve piled minutes

in saturated corners

put stopped clocks for birthdays



this kind of seeking

the want i made a

lifetime for



is over and shared

with no one, nobody to

accommodate the page with



no one to incline

my dna with rude

blissfulness



and stupid still

like a mocking root

this low down



where the music of

honey plays thru’ out

other lovers



moisturising

bones, and plinths

of rouge words shouted



stop the footstep

before it’s meant,

return yourself



into a most

cemetery

environment



there for the

kind skies to

evolve, to nourish



to placate the

everywhere that

everyone flourishes



seeking but i have

stood to it’s ceasing,

cut the journey from it’s engine



taken the road

and burnt it, what we

look for and



re-imaged it



and thin trees

slice themselves

thru’ sharp breezes



like loneliness

like being shot down

with quiet



now has been taken



it was then that

summer surrendered

and the breezes shook

their iciness, borrowers

of what chilling was to come



and the first leaf perished

in yellow curling, followed

by few then tens of torn

thousands, and flowers

undid their blouse hinges



letting colours fall

sad flags of an empire

akin to the rust that now

tastes, the air has

cemetery wishes all for being taken



find me




where?

the deserted beach

cold waves glance

upon or



by the river’s slow

shrug of incomplete

mirrors, or the hill

crows are upon?



i could be in the sea

watching the land drown

or under autumn where

sleep’s gossamer shall hide



roaming the narrative of

woods where if stood shall

rot down to the messages

of the floor



where

when a minute’s last asking

greet my awake shadow?

by the flame nasturtium arch?



occupy my final step



looking



i’ve buried well

haven’t i?

the nuisances

of prying have

been nullified



too much are

interfering eyes,

such tiny inquistions

are defied, still

such gazes come



i have let rust in

where it was meant,

and performed spring

where the hidden bulbs

are kept



bad radicals



and everywhere

went or meandered

at shop lavish enticement

there was sullen



eyes to the ground

where despair has us

dwell

takes us to the devil



upon me like a crow’s

glance

like a heavy wing

sucks the colours out



minds to the floor

where cadavers grope

such thought

enthralled by what is under



the air is shook with

narratives, none of

quiet, the head was

meant for stars



meant for durable

constellation, to

write upon them

an idea among winter



and everywhere

be it room or

queue stood

molasses across voltage



shut off the smile for

it shares, and the breakable

horizon, take it off the

hook



and the worsens

achieve terrible

weather, wrists filled

with clever ink



open routes of

red messages

hurt will out and

become skies owned



the worst of words

compel damage

to the shroud

or so the headlines shout



qarow


with childhood

dreamers

at their dusk inch,

under

into perilous cave

a star less shiver

and rooted snake



or the wonder

that narrates thru’

sleep, a silver

dew scape



dream into the

copses

into the spider’s

cocoon



there are indeed

monsters at

your window

sill



none of them

fleeting but true

with spur of

fear



childhood tatters,

rags torn from the

tired scarecrow,

beneath is always

reaching clawed or

with a sinister paw

headlong into it’s maw



scarce reassurance

makes slumber scary,

it’s canyon deep creases

swallows every idle

dreamer, it soils the mind

with dented stars



my fearful



adult shiver

night is at

the window

eerie fingers



the moon

crippled to

a quarter

hangs hinged



like a

door ajar

a grimace of

blackness reaching



hear the laps

of morgue whispers,

become the voice

of it’s narrative



there are corners

with skeletons tried

there for waking,

headstones of shadows



surely are closets?



surrender to the sheet’s

strangle, hear

fingerprints cackle

as if someone other



there are winds across

the blown bay, come

throw your voices, hurl

blows upon the pane



the bed is drowned

and further rain where

sleep tries to entangle

is but an eyelid



forced open



there’s a floor that

won’t let footsteps,

and a ceiling that

leers suffocation



and the slope lists

to falling, topples

teeth like throwaway

coins



convinced that morning

is never coming, it’s

applause of silver sprayed

gowns won’t announce



darkness forever schemes

it’s dark blink, a thousand

horrid greasy touches, and

gargoyles on floorboards slink



spider gussets throttle

the rafters and tie up

echoes to be murdered

there, scared lungs yearn



to holler



up where the rank moon is

pierced with a bayonet, it

seeps lunatic porcelain a

lunar wreath pale as moans


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