home, where is home now?
dead in the back seat’s
loneliness, and hours
spent gazing dead-eyed
onwards
fields now houses
where childhood grew in -
amongst the gargoyles and old-
man’s bearded bramble snipers
used to hang there midair in the
those tree armchairs counting
cloud sculptures reinventing
their finite floating castles
then began to rot and older
became sullen, pity such
protein, scarecrow thin in a
mirror’s angst and hesitation
clumsy as drunkenness yet
seeking somehow wonderful
underneath the bare sheets, those
slightly damp twisting, twisting sheets
uneventful dreaming and morning
wakes empty, does not fit belonging
does not fit in anyone’s smile, there’s
an ashtray of sky beginning to snarl
so here is the anchor relied upon a
root of a room confided in, had this
cocoon some twenty one years
familiar as daily wearing
here comes now to dismantle, how
dismal, anxious as a thirst or unsubtle
effacement, unrecognisable where-
abouts coming, 4 walls of unknowing
evening breaks about its final seeing,
a moon swung, cornish for the last
time, swords the land around older
looking as vintage, obscure photographs
won’t the sea miss my footsteps, miss
my glimpses? a stride of circles where
the seagulls greet and glide uproars
of blows and salt beginning winds
tonight this world lapses, knowing
backwards won’t be revisited often
as, there is fear like a noose of a
rain-scarfed-moon alone
about to be ripped, to be pulled
from such a loamy dwelling, going
is quite soon, towards future of
gnarly spires, lost lane’d sprawling
towards being swallowed the
city that hangs its occupants
by burial or sleep’s attained walking,
lonely such lonely listening
arriving wept train crawls in and
eases slowly from elsewhere,
the rhythm of rain-wet-voicing seems
to tap “why are you even here?”
spired, concrete shoulders, unfamiliar,
folk swarm in and about of everywhere,
strangers in doorway gaunt jaws, a three limbed
dog, a cardboard message “ none dream here”
mouths and mouths more than shingles
on a shingled shore, interfered with air
traffics the odour of used, whose to know
me anywhere? pavements quick with martians
i am being pigeon watched like a possession,
buses ghost by hissing their wheels on several
occasions, “take me to the room that’ll keep
quiet in” “whose to consider me here?” “no-one”
whose to know my outline, my whereabouts?
whose to roam this vulgarity of shyness to
be initialled? anyone? where the red river calls pulling
my every direction into absolute bits
happiness eludes upheaved roots