sinister

hasn’t gone

it shambles

on

reoccurring

withdrawing

coming, and

re-sucking

like salt's thirst

scowling over a

body tries pulling

wreckage onshore

does return hollow

what is fearful to

be loved, but this

picture is unpainted

with scars, i am the frame’s

dull occupant

hurt, pillared pillowed precipices

stay unchallenged

building upon its

featureless architecture of tearfulness

you tore right thru me

with that pigsty of a

heart that contained

nought affection

sunspots have burnt

holes, deep hollows -

deep awakening

burrows for -

dark grimacing birds

to roost and lizards to

sprawl where such

damage will not remove

a rain-filled-heart-width

falling that has no floors

this can’t be but is a feeling -

forevermore cutting

dig the sky under for the

skies aren’t wanted or

warranted to shine -

their sticky glinting

afraid of what sorrow might

bring? down in the bottom

of a tall glass stare up from -

indecent salvation

think

you own

your own hole?

but every

gleamed orifice

is rented or sold

i am so grey filled

with the graphite of

absence

it almost kills

tomorrow always spills

ready and wanting

empty headed -

waiting for such comets to blow

so when closeness

exhibits

expiry

paused

in someone else’s

worn mouth

an eyesore

of silence

or lonely

appears

its own desolate

shore

there are nooses

stiff as lovers up

against throats

makes the steepness

sharper, makes more

mornings blunter

why wake in that stale

body shape full of the

spent pages of others?

why must the cracks

always appear?

why?

answer this, and

indeed be hatched

a genius

beyond

what is actually mine

casual spaces

expanses hearse-like

magnolia cages,

that grasp of nothing

feelings of facelessness

thru-out phantoms

sparse and much colder places

beyond

is smudged and indistinct

touching, a wall of

allows loneliness

to thrive its feeding,

how to be isolated

by someone’s dislike

or skin rejection,

condemned to a ritual of one

out there

i sense your filthy presence

warm and un-drunk

waiting for orgasm twitches

for moonbeams to stick their strangeness

beyond my

ownership of none

this heart has known

naught but the winter

you placed there,

the wasted clocks

a lifetime’s rape of

once, here’s to the

hollow that engulfs me now

aperture and abyss

where often is drifted,

that feeling of return

quite the revulsion

leaves quite the sickness

come share this

intimate feud

this shame

this doubt, a head’s

worthlessness of opaque holes

constellations don’t

shake the sheets -

anymore unlike 

thirst, it deafens it

weakens resolve

the likes of another hot person

awaits the shuddering pistol,

assassin of your sex

like the one you discarded

and left bereft

“splintery and dashed”

anonymous thighed -

salty brethren, selfish others

infect their brothers, beyond

what is stale an anniversary

of rust, there isn’t love

discontinue today

enough of it is empty,

cease the strobe of

this daily dead disco

no longer 80’s flamingoes

but tired and astray,

radios are throats attached

to intruding mouths

speaking without a minute

left between them, dial up

the mirror of loathing find

unhealthy croaking stiff as slept

mid worn and eroding, tiles about

the glare of sun lit poison, catching

gleams, catching the phantom by

the dead shoulders and shuddering

queues inside the silences of the

head, queues that don’t expire,

too many inserted coral bright fingers

too many velcro friends and shivers

why this love? a hole agape, failure

has many stems about to push its

buds, why this thorough rain? makes

the day a melancholic sea cave

those maze of maps that lace groins

wish my tongue could word it and

become that honeyed yard upward, my

heart’s intrepid worth spun into spider's carnage

there is too much loneliness in pillows

sore as the eye can fake, no one to

cease alone with, such other paler friendships

became cockerel handshake keepsakes

aftermath less often swooned once

complete drowning but kisses became

sharp whist thrust was distant, no

blissfulness came, each eyelid radio muted

how completely stupid, knew if i ever

did, remained my own accusation, hidden,

sickness became syrup giddy that days

threw themselves, ironic bullets no fatal injury came

drunk upon that someone made me unanchored

and unaccepted, what am i supposed to achieve

here at such a wrong hour? i am third a swan short

of being handsome, i inhabit another quite unpleasant

time guillotines itself, cuts at, removes but i live these

eyelid moments half worthy half slow, slows itself

to a corpse clock so jagged it is painfully slower, left for

dusk to gnaw at, i was never any kind of glow-er

oh white protein surfer, synchronised quite deceitful

come root the ruined passages to my broken library,

listener you should have listened more to the wounds

that continue the red incomprehensible theatre

loved is

how it shrieks

nailed to

the person that wasn’t and could never be

insert couches

where we fall

upright sailors

would blush

something of a

dirty smile

covets us

unlike snow

hot your rose

a statue to glow

my heart’s un-glow-able

lit breathables a moanful

a suckable which invigorates

the already tornado, i’m a flamingo

scarlet haemorrhage happening

spilt torsos, flammables,

i orbit the sockets a gravity of

eyes so blue famines, visions

eaten and damned

more groaned coats i’m down

where this liquid veneer of

deep white splinters undoes

the thin whale it came from

uncertain of, so uncertain of

where i drowned, so bury me

collect me in tripe coloured

molasses its collar a prison

find myself unbreathable and

intolerable starring, a pause of

fingers then abrupt pistons

blows are making the stars crash

a mosquito fever hot makeover,

eskimo then shiver, pale slivers

of pretend kisses vaguely drip

their bland taste thru meatiness

imagine noisy sheets

soft cotton snares

drape like necessary air

this night neither shall drink sleep

turn upon it’s pillow arctic

empty as always, empty now as

every day will certainly be

farewell no longer acts

as an apt gesture

exchanging trinkets

swapping holes in hearts

buRn, buRn those

inferno-yesterday-unmentionables

was it not enough to bury

ourselves in each other’s frozen spite?

surely not i hear you spit

all mad thumbs risking it

it’s easy to let the pieces

stay in bed or dash upon the floor,

this empire of fragments is building

broken fingers into adorable spires

smash that pretty tallness

why don’t you come

and collapse me further?

expired calendars

all i have become

scratch marks in a

cell, forty four days ignored

why haven’t i

become its final archive?

a surname in faded newsprint

come laugh at this ink

there is none more to borrow

no more murder to add,

tomorrow please be blank born

greyer than textbook bored pages

furthermore delete each retina photograph

each echo decease, no reoccurrence please

loved you

in ways that brought perfect rain

mine now is the howl from a man

stolen of every colour

farewell corduroy angel

your entangled sleep visits

cause the somersault of my

heart to crease

the train’s smudge grows faster

painful departure from this city’s claw,

twisting thru abyss-sudden-tunnels

stillness as if i had become quartz

until there is no more of

a city to look back upon

where sunbeams are torn

and pierced with coldly ripping steeples

sunday has a brutal

anthem, a ritual of

harmful bells, they

tear apart dreaming

pull you out from last

night’s drunken shell

morning stuck like

phlegm, waist up

with a headache,

scrotum empty of

its larks, out by the

window’s part sneer -

in their smartest of

shrouds, docile on

their paths being

called towards the

belfry smashing itself,

compliant haloed angels -

toting hateful, i deliberately dislike sundays, they are puerile, too roamed with preaching without actually believing, god is out there complacent somewhere on a loose sleeve, in a bay of reflective omens sipping sulphur or lousy molten mochaccinos

so middle finger up,

defiant to those

militant crosses that

damn those for being

scarce, doesn’t the

devil do us all up the hearse?

your religion made

childhood rare, if evil

really is out there it is

organised in dark buildings,

i refuse the sewage

of your pages

sundays are unapproachable, are dirge-raves sooted by priests, spite, smite and smote, it’s the pink in us you culprits so dislike, i am out of gods i refuse their deep tongues, come to sunday’s end slouched in a daydreamer's bar observing poison church-itself-upwards where such poison belongs