poem for dead love

mourns the tireless sea-searching-

winds across the strangled shrugged


mortuary damp hairdo grasses

at the whim of aggressive-air-met-


hear the creak of a sign’s stubborn

hip where the words have almost

been taken

yawns from windows a sunset cornered,

baffles nocturnal watchers, silhouettes endure


and stitch together laughter

ale wise lips stained by nicotine wretches

that weft and wear, bodies buRning always

thru’ their wicks

crackling wood capers

a stiff fox observant from the elderly mantlepiece

it’s seen so many rum scenes, wolf listening

for one so dead

fate is pulling at the hourglass of everyone

one is a car crash at three-in-the-morning

the headlights catch rabbit-eye-mirrors

that crippled tree grope where petrol now

seeps, cranial stars out of their skull’s hinge

tiny bursts of, then fades

back where dusk continually inhabits alcoves

sits with hands tight around a glass, it’s been

empty since last orders

he is eyesight thru’ that window pane wandering

where the crocuses comatose under, where

battalions of rooks are suits of soot bough and

branch, he is where initials were carved and

announced love, the wheat-less fields where

secrecy sometimes hid where the foliage

nudged, scarecrow brothers watching from a

distant hedge hard as crosses

often moonbeams spilt, often the other gave

serious thistle tremble where the gristle of

the heart sang out, has done so for a

calendar’s worth of troubled days

medicinal nowhere, and the rust sleeves

announce further crumble, like a tired

ruin upright trying

onlookers don't perceive the husk, hollows

full of un-returnable echoes acquire mountains

towards that shadow called home tho’

the night is filled with holes where the

stars are plugged into

like the holes that bury him so, bury

him oh so slow

hears the heavy breeze follow, cars

are being swallowed into

into the dark of another he wishes

into the bones of raw past

like being shivered upon, like being

ripped by thuggish tides, all eyes inward

there’s a ditch with an empty paraffin

can, a silent shoe, where the blackberry

pickers missed bruised globes

pieces of someone missing that wasn’t

or isn’t entirely him

pitch of a slid owl from twig into

uncertainty, into aim and howl

“i am” he thinks “not enough numb”

“nowhere gone enough”

lets rid these footsteps, their stride is

quite tired, sit awhile in the stench of ink

verges are being courted by cold, wants

to whiten him perfect stillness

breath excels out, it’s best to keep lonely

tomorrow has been had already and leans

ten minutes after midnight stale and stood

what is there to inflict in this time so future

given? are vacuoles for sharing? how

about no one and nothing is a road

for being nowhere upon, the blood

knows no direction and wants to

stall, to pause it’s pale rubble

what is a day to filled with? broken

bits of experience, piles of

minutes will horde them

tho’ the drone of a breeze unsettles

bramble stiffness, unsettles yearning

that only wants sleeping

daylight begins it’s startling swords

shrieks at the shadows that only

want to swill further and swarm

sees himself start to vanish


the whispering tree’s sudden, sullen hinge

i shall fray until memory

and your taint has gone,

daily in, daily out you

still drift the mind’s mouth

pushed thru’ the minutes that

grimace flavourless months, a

tourniquet of sutured clocks

a definite watch where the

tide won’t change

it’s thru’ waking, thru’ the

nourish of sleep’s inverted

mountains, comes like

stubbornness, like a shouted

thru’ eyelid unflinching

tear the spires you conspired

me thru’, burn the furniture

i became most, the blood

table, the witless chair,

dismantle everywhere i began


perishes everywhere, everyone

expiry is upon every atom,

even the sun is tired hauling

it’s obese flame

whilst we are only dots in

entirely absurd vastness

we manage ourselves like

suicidal vests

days are diminishing quicker

than imagined, cot gazing

planets, childhood becomes

faster, exchanging proteins

then stood whilst mother is

being buried, all about grey

flags, escarpments looming

grief, pressing inward

middle aged crow can’t achieve

the bough, there’s no such

escalator towards the mistletoe

infected branch

sky’s are deader now, more

inclined to be thick and sturdy

muslin, greyer than a cough

the air is in a hospice

mornings are more stiffening

yet upright we go from the

stickiness that adheres such

dreams, wishing won’t let go

my pretend my surrogate

rainbow, pretty little mind

swarm when each glass

of clearness is drunk

nearing aren’t i? when the

clock heart chooses, when?

soon, when shall the clock’s

soul decide? when?

when shall rust be oiled anew?

soon comes that moment

when lonely thru’ shadow

soon is soon enough

not wonderful

days filled endless nothing wondering-theft-lost-bereft-love

whose to achieve me now? whose to glisten the summit?

“no one” shrieks the breeze at it frequently passes

fewer still will offer up their glances, none shall comfort

the empty bed sheets clean as their ironed arctic

“you’re on your own to count the creases”

days will drip from unturned calendar pages, that

yellow slow stain creeps from january’s corner

window unchanging has blades thru’, purely irritating

daylight shows dust in full on airborne dances

tomorrow’s bottles of sustained oblivion have been

drunk whilst afternoons are going over into dusk

this tattoo’s stealth is spreading blindfold bondage

seeps unseeing into all plausible rooms

i’m on the floor where it’s ink dark finds me,

fingerprints and limbs devoured

that final cave that deep deep deep hollow

excuse for a mouth takes the entire body

once beneath all those grimy atoms, lids

like tiny tombstones where quiet narrates

it’s corpse

i’m least understanding or caring where the next

breath will come from, hoping it doesn’t

daggers of traffic glutton what seems to be outside,

who would have thought such vehicles possessed


beams of, grenade their moonshine and reveal where

i am vaguely silhouetted, like something pinned

awaiting a surgeon’s casual dissection

there’s an audience, i can make out their rustling

throats and headfuls of accosted weather

assume the dye about is thick with rapist fingers

they attend to my stillness, reaching into with

black icy fingernails

a rag doll an emaciated scarecrow, scratch away

the harm that other’s have done, i’m far from

being numb

dig with vigour, expose charcoal inebriated secrets

spill their furled guts, all are clear white messages

i cannot manage hiding further as each ripped silence

is expelled

march deletes itself, later july tries summer

days entirely dissolve their lived in contents

and clocks are clawed with rigorous mortis

whose to find me sleeping now?

lilac swept

squeezed where i slept

anchors dragging as

worlds are put to pause,

“how deep are you?” asks


“i’m a raindrop speeding

thru’ the precipice”

when spoken to, it was

mauve and the purple

studded hills invoked

soft red kites and childhood

“where are you now?” pry’s

watchfulness, “heading down

uncertain lanes of cinder

bleak dusk” i reply

it’s where sadness meanders

toiling it’s complete unfurl,

mostly regret supplies eyesight

backwards, those envelopes

of goodbye

i reasoned with being stood

but my shadow won’t stall

so it’s footsteps quicker into

the applause of becoming lost

whilst the moon hangs it’s

aspirin clear beams, wreckages

of light, jagged almost, i turn

under deep costly cottons

not finding the horizon i was

meant to stride towards


broken flowers begin

petals again

urging colours

thru’ multiple veins

disposes of rain and

head towards ether

towards atom dances

in amongst

the sunbeams,

repel the torn ravine,

drift upon the vulnerability

of sleep’s narcotic mountain

wings won’t allow plummet

won’t let gloom upset the

opal tide rhythm, wet with

whispers, wet with onset of

dew, sigh upon sigh shrugs

breath into shimmer-all swoon

come connect each eager root

where melancholia try’s to reach

and perform a stillness of statues

in amongst a lifetime’s hurtle, it’s

purple deep dusk won’t take,

soar with, become cranial comets

become quite otherness


itemise lightning as

it takes, as it’s energy



the circuit to the

protein genius

archives, oceans,

pages, all are lit,

rust withdraws older

submits to the rust coloured

hills when someday their

shadow will be overwhelming

until varicose, and seldom

becomes sudden, sodden

with forgetting

now is compilation

a gathering of endings

synapses arc seeable


suppose the seed held

to it’s secret, and the wind’s

moan was never deciphered?

why the heart beats so when

gladdened or the tear stricken

as it dries?

why the atom is, or archives of

silver toiled with drops, the tide’s

flotsam is kept

amend the footstep before it’s



androgynous, without self

shapelessness yet a hole

neither feline nor masculine


secretly yet clearly as a bell,


heavenly some think,

in truth a labyrinth kindly

signposted towards hell

i’m buRning in the

selfish corridors, well

lit up gods are only rooms

and i am all of them and


sometimes i’m footsteps

without root or inclination

to settle

there’s boredom

and it infects it brings dust

to lifelessness

once i was

nowhere and it felt good

love was neutral as a ghost

daren’t push thru’ it’s paper

white abdomen or else

nourish the blemish

but here, here is devilish

there’s taint there’s purity

attrition like an addicted

gulf stream, fragments are

dashed with mirrors, hints

of the person that is hid

the world’s great deception

deceive them deceive the

sunbeam it’s spill

truly, out there doesn’t have

the roots to find the blizzard

white room

i am residential

in it’s albino interrogation

inhabiting this sheer sea

of disturbed stars


damaged anchors and

synapse crackle


the radio of the mind?

every theatrical atom

i’m the weather of my own

rank geography

feuds of

fingers all in detrition combine

sinew to the creased sky

archives holler and compile

the grime of minutes, self

without self copy, yet

pure loneliness


strides of gazes contemplate

the bleak infinite shore

the length of a teardrop

aware of the nothingness

out there, it has tired-dropped-


i’m crowded but

sincerely alone

seven headed nemesis


and the idea was caught

wanting the stickiness

of the net it was enthralled

to by it’s strangle, and those

rapturous veins ran entire

violet blisses as the pistons

urged on and tremble continued

thru’ out the nights demanding



day came spent and spired and

bedclothes twisted dream like

into two figures snared by a

bleached phantom, and the

honey suture rose asking for

more fingers, thus resonance

began from bones thru’ into

rushing red cities


went falling, came upon me swooning

like a cliff fall or an elevator rocketing

downwards, i was made for ribcages

to smother, and so the airless cage



kill came when the crease wasn’t right

or the taper of a curtain draped like

a dead arm and was stained


hearse came a visiting when the bruise

extended into tiny pavements


hits and i want to occupy the corner

where all spidery things are hid,

attempts were and gifts wrapped

in words, cajoling, trying to allow

me to walk upon the breakers and

the surf that knows only hostile shells,

thirteen minutes later was capsized

and an eye lit hostage


months of gripping the headboard

a nerve ending in flames, what should

have been seeded-silver-purely-

wonderful is wither among the stale

pillows, a tapeworm motorway for the

heart to be devoured with

the tornado burst in the room

smashed all that we grew

there’s petrol building it’s anger

his body in roots mine in a confiscated

noose, then sat closest the floor

nearer hell i suppose

the tinderin’ king

sung to by childhood’s rhyme

it’s rhythm roots, suggests to the

cot, departure, to leave the cotton

careful instructed womb

then was unfurled to straighten,

out into grim gleamed light so

loved never forsaken, a secret

yet woken in membrane welfare

finger-traces of adoration, time does

it’s whine-withering-lifelines,

days undo one another’s futures

passing poorly timetabled seasons

asleep there in slovenly architecture

in my complex city, a switch or hinge

or lever, melodic cells multiply as if

asked by fruition to perform faster

melancholy has no touch here no

obligation to grieve, everywhere

simply is child-like-wonder-full-

stories, adventures in contraband

boxes that could be pirate ships

or a tortoise den no troll or under-

the-bed-monsters could

contrive to storm, sometimes a

castle without lady gwineveres

or cocoons of sheer sugar, high

as the horror films daren’t watched

unless hid and furtively glimpsing,

until bedtime patrols reluctance

then thirteen, and the playground

quickens where once carefree hollers

now proteins thicken and that guide to

the blood’s source acts out templates

acts outs it’s manufacture, there’s

discipline in the precise red raw

clock, a conveyor belt of gargoyles

a dreadful wet yet greasy shiver

i’m slivers of being reworked, and

tended to by no one, childhood prisms

derelict, no longer visited,

out-of-sort-shapes, there’s kindling

and it’s rigorous flame has begun,

attention now magnetised, reels and

roars, inside and under are symphonies

commanding skin comments further attrition

of atoms that want out of their comets,

the window’s attire of jagged clowns

that fearful religion towering over like

a ridiculous claw eradicating all

school becomes a summit, a stiff

peak that is glassy to reach, an alchemy

was occurring amongst verbal aim

and hierarchy of waspishness

half hourly murders and flies continue

their playground music, lords of

brutality that finds it’s way into

homework graffiti, a loose mask

a well worked gallows made of school

ties, hang me there awhile to be

watched at and jeered right thru’,

daily crows are alighting the boughs

brambles are outright thugs, so is the

heart sometime i guessed when it’s

shallow muscle was squeezed and

love fell upon it’s quicklime sword

adolescent burials are on mass like

impatient winters ensnare breathes,

i watched shapeless years once vast

vanish into the watches that created them

tinier now than when lived in, time is

smudged faster and those pubic fumbles

i daren’t grasp became fewer and fear

resided the shoulder, desire smouldered

and that root buRnt low and struggled

attrition against gasp against sadness,

this mouth was meant for love but it’s

hollow shall receive only cold abandon

i’m thru’ with the tantrums of spring and

how desire made worsening of blood

feel, there’s temptation and it lures like

magnets, makes surroundings drunk

and so the months trawl revolutions of

very incomplete circles, some days were

corpses where no light was allowed,

where the assembly of starlings

were heartless bound, that inelegant knife

of morning often found most vulnerable

a host to the strangled sheets about,

here that loneliness offering was made

stale and all without the shared stains

of someone else, some roads aren’t

meant for travelling no matter future

enticement, only collapsed elbows

and disinterested skulls primed with blank

waiting for a promise that will never unhinge

from it’s sincere beige bud, so here’s another

christmas suffocation, 53 in all so far

not one edible snowflake, no suitor to map

those likeable streets upwards into glisten

where the buzz of harps come like grenades,

whose to discover the river that yearns tending?

i’m that king in an anaesthetic rub down in

a pile of numb this kingdom of plagiarised

bones and gropes, waiting for fingerprints

to lodge their leftovers, the queue out there

is none


oh sweetly swoons into the pith of

his moans, adult muscles dare each

piston, acquire that sigh that says

bliss is red-rushing-sky-lids

outside is


unacceptable dirges

here moons over blushes intentionally

growing them, tending to their blood

written voices, touches are and the

heart gallops

pigeon entrails tiny skipping ropes

where feline knives entangle, the

sill is witness to such ripping

an errant beam of pouring has

almost fingers, has the way lit

into your eyes, into your violet


that the body should lay there in

blissful rubble, aliquots of shudder

ease and are fading

where turquoise should be grey

and stubborn rain now fills the

wheres of every, such that minds

are wetly trodden

like cadavers with slit grins

resting against stained pillows,

what rubescent energies have

been taken out of them?

whilst ashes fill up outside

where the greyness sullen king

resides, we are heavenly and

full of holes

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