swallower

weather maddening its bleak hat again

deriding what shouldn’t be far upstairs,

oh this day’s dirty unreadable ink won’t

listen whilst headfirst onto ill patterned

linoleum, and the stars have been kicked

earlier, before midnight’s creased hands a

clock thrown disarmed from tutting, slain

there like a dismounted tongue, unsure of

i think it’s eight a.m. but wrist sore exorcists and

the way the pigeons have vacated, sill voyeurs -

they are elsewhere in gossip breadcrumb waltzes,

hints of, nudges gasp, am crashing everywhere,

skinful hiding in pillows where shouting can be

muffled, whilst breakfast empties and the table

scrapes, a door retaliates and a car revs and roars-

oh what a defunct lion screeches

am gazes whilst clouds cling to addictive greyness

a successor to hopelessness it returns its crow to

rebury into its flammable nest yet again, the head isn’t

worded anymore, out there aren’t clues, panoramic angels

in their so ordinary gutters, sadly all  eyesores

the pigeon-weirds in their clubbed foot romances their

altars of bread in fermented churches, lisps of rain wets

the wall where erosion gorges, swollen road obese with

rasping tyres, whilst here is proven silence, time simply -

gnaws

i dress as a ghost, wear a thin t-shirt that says “ god help

my bones”, wintry jeans and sulk black shoes, a few strides

down to where the kitchen mouths such a bad mood, words

as missiles but not well aimed, smudges me there into his

stubble lair, hardly a suck of a kiss is mainly coldness

punctures and re-claws back silence “WHY DON’T YOU

TOUCH ME HERE?” makes the cereal and goji berries

shake a table full of tiny earthquakes, oh affection-less

heir, a gargoyle is murmured, a near closeness miss but

refuses, i am that unreceived boy with dead, dead hair?

doorway slams its throat, and the leopard growls out from

its engine, then gone and quiet re-churches its own miserable

blues, a melancholic inmate from a window to watch from,

crows on the fence make obscene music and then some,

outside seems to re-swallow itself into nearby afternoon

here is empty room’d

a deity leaves his transit van and is almost pathway’s up,

delivers a smile, and walks away deep arsed, wish you’d

carry away my loneliness to some awkward pier and

completely drown it there in the dingy in and out tides, and

quiet perseveres with its morgue, its sculptures

out there you are somewhere pacing the protein of

desire, the carcass i so leant on is oxygen swapping

with some handsome another, delved back seat or in

a bar named “the pink crocus”, spittle spells out disloyal,

spells out affair whilst spasm fits then spires

here late afternoon bleeds, fearful sits in the gnaw

of 5.30 and homecoming like a shark, his voice

sharp as a typewriter, kisses won’t be different they

have lost all their blaze, here as a crouch like a magician

starts to erase, i know i know “YOU’RE UNFIT FOR CONSUMPTION”

am its inmate finale, an inmate lonely,

why did we ever bother with beginning? later

bludgeoned towards blisses, it wasn’t good, it

spread like seasonal and daily hurt, you are

an unpaid vessel for semen

mythraic

it is all past, extended lids over where

disappointment hardens into glass,

don’t ask, do not intervene, stuck

with that kind of gene, all sticky roads

and hidden

bodies blow upon the gaunt hill, faces

filled with flame, it is not the place to

be going, i pick up their footsteps in

the dust that each has become, the

wolf is eating the pink pack

over where each scarecrow is hooded

and wears autumn as an ache, pierced

with a sorrow as each of us shares addictive

pointlessness, i’m beheaded up there with

broken, with torn leaves that know no home

have carried myself in a well used mask

have detailed the lie to be honey on its

trapped back, now all is here in glorious

rust, its losses its disintegration and the

mind’s regret, it makes up rain

stood back and see the dead in me a

childhood toy bursts upon its pyre, a fading

a field dark churning its twilight, it grows

hands of stealth to grasp, to redo its traces, here am

several names, some are deceitful for changing

oh aching me aching me that clock extends

my bones into wires of calcium howl, i am

thru out the noise of someone else, the wrong

curse, was it so meant for me? scarce few are

beyond the touch of others

find myself into a mirror of despicable brothers,

another is a dress that looks like tipped waves,

here the taste is being sucked backwards, its

bleak desire, a rock thru out his shoulders where

where my falling cannot be blamed

pull away from the fountain of its grainy mouth

pull out from the echoes from a borrowed play-

ground, it was all angst and wintry ailments, teachers

leaning in on their hate, that place disintegrated

literally had no faces

think now all that can be thought are hallways

of tongues, most won’t be remembered by their

naming, a liars romance an edible night pearls-

upwards rising thru towards ending, a writhe there

a wreathe of, and wet and pale sediments

the heart isn’t detectable and won’t act out its

blush, shrapnel only as it hordes this strange

kind of love, musk anoints this cliche of lust

words in turn become sprays out of the body’s

ash, commit to the firework’s ambush

oh chasm went where churches told of hell,

my adolescence upon its lifelong spasm, no

comet shall be delayed, but repeated, on

repeat and re-swallowed, two figures ignite their

shyness, ignite their silence

engulf one another as tides seek to covet

their shores, and in doing so covers them, pillows

spread out in battlefields, a newness should

be roaring, completes my entire shatter-fullness

that echo that was, a boy stood in a childhood

fortress, removes me from that person of once,

from now on oral alliances their root encounters

are too cursed and simply not their worth

phial (the mind’s ink)

doorway is gloom

want to wander thru?

i am so good at blind circles

that enable holes to revisit

at most, few-shoulders-

deep-enough for burden to

exert, has a stealth of mirrors

making my stood-still an exhibit

hear hearses taking friendships

hear walls creep solitude inwards,

smiles taken from skulls, my glance

un-stellar-like, a lifetime sucked dull

tearable skies lose rain, like here is

said grey as melancholic grave, i do

not find myself staying especially in

the petrol flames of drunk yesterdays

sunshine isn’t, some are ravens in

sunken-ness, watch as their sharp

cheeks create ruins, apply the day’s

defiance but footsteps still sink

oh my medicinal mirth

makes sunbeams work,

so false a fake sky it always

makes the ceiling higher

the door is toothless

but a throat,

people are edgeless

three surfaces below

this landscape of

dissolved abrupt

flowers

gazed from all sources

that sliver of silver sanity

nourishes the dead curtain

but the abyss is certain

that root is thru me ditched as

well as sickened, wounds of

unliveable rooms mindful as

the greyest oblique shore

everyone’s laughter is sutured

and pale pigeons all stares

all crumb confusion, confetti'd sighs

mediocre breezes

oh falling forwards but

never as low as the

floor

a numb talk constance,

the cocoon i wear tailor-

made out from childhood fragments

grey music, grey trees in grey

stances, grey everywhere appalls,

it seeps dead, unnerving hands,

we dream of lids, a sleep’s succumbing

twilight those uncertain fleshy romances

so quickly vanish, it’s as if all exits were

meant to be chased until their doorways perish

stood where words have fallen wingless,

their blushes their fruit pierced sour, curves

aren’t met with soaring and makes the

plummeting so un-worthwhile

these appetites these shadows a greasy

mouth inserts its bland flavour, how corpse

like everything seems to exist

staggered spires, perfect angels,

nooses for summer wear, i am an

heir to thinking, it inks the ways to falling

and swallows me further fallen