poem for dead love
mourns the tireless sea-searching-
winds across the strangled shrugged
moor
mortuary damp hairdo grasses
at the whim of aggressive-air-met-
fingers
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
tales
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
lightning
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
falling
“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
dreamiest
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
knowledge
itemise lightning as
it takes, as it’s energy
inserts
complete
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
glisten
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
meant
self
androgynous, without self
shapelessness yet a hole
neither feline nor masculine
shell
secretly yet clearly as a bell,
insincere
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
none
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
mostly
damaged anchors and
synapse crackle
where’s
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
where
strides of gazes contemplate
the bleak infinite shore
the length of a teardrop
aware of the nothingness
out there, it has tired-dropped-
thru’-windows
i’m crowded but
sincerely alone
once
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
precipice
second-
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
thrice
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
began
fourth-
kill came when the crease wasn’t right
or the taper of a curtain draped like
a dead arm and was stained
fifth-
hearse came a visiting when the bruise
extended into tiny pavements
six-
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
seven-
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
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
heaven
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
miserable-ism,
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
motorway
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