— take from this what you will —

feed me something,

even -

if it’s the stars from

your soul,

feed me

your oxygen-atoms

for hands

for insatiable

to grow

wider

———

i become

a dragon

inside of your

mouth, mauve

caves both

mauve into

oneness

into

scarlet

eruptions

———

you

could have been

the moon

across my

fern swayed

hillside, could

have held me

upon starry breath

could have

submerged

in my

liquid bracelets

———

in darkly

written skies

feint voices

rise, names

of, their initials

shall fade and

fade, old trees

seem stubborn

to time, but your

kiss of once

fragile as smoke

makes into

broken shaped

———

when ghosts

become clear

become glass

i see you on the forgotten hillsides

in the scant,

in such emptiness

———

i gaze you

dead

in that past

that house

of voices

now collapses

rubble of

frames half torn

pictures, and dust mauled photographs

i was then

a motorway shimmered-

with what blazes you gave me

desire

upwards

flourished and bled its out

raw into

molten tigers

dash their sugarless cages

i was caramel

lazed there, upon

swollen words

capsized in

the deep dunes

in the waves of a silver spent smile

———

what made room

for the root and

grew itself into

a tongue, into

love, into tension

absurd as a head-spun-dive a rollercoaster’s swan upwards then veering in hell’s ocean, a conversation words thrown onto mirrors

there are seeds

that own pale

speeches, can

necklace or be

groans of a tide

my

everywhere

convinced

and

swallowed

———

i found out love,

a carving of a

precipice, had

many, many

throats, hallways

of lost names,

discarded crushes

rubbles of

filled eyes, they had

been dosed tarnished

with, and

what was swans

pulled apart milk

from their dowsed

feathers, i set aside

love like it was

cutlery broken, it

had a mantlepiece

a museum of their

sucked out heads,

a door that closes

backwards where

failure labyrinths

———

memories are

seized moments,

catches of, a person

kept as a picture

or a touch remembered

as dew adrift upon a

slope, i museum ghosts

quick as glass their

light creases thru went

had is what life is

reels of, circles as

we have met twice,

i re-memorise your

taste, immortalise

each thought’s smell

make them apple

into sunbeam bursts, the

dapple of, try not forget

———

half of the other not found. searched the pale blue scenery, moats of clouds, trees whispering each other hello, haven’t met the mirror to find clues or to undo the puzzle of lonely, there up there a cloud shaped as a fierce pike, an umbrella is another, those emptied as persons have painted glass for stares and are often faraway with gazing, i am coffee marooned on my second then third dive into its caffeine illusion, words thrive about my silence, god resits at a nearby table recites from a book of deep pages, relearning a river’s line, would you ensure my world stays glowed? soar me, trip the volcano? he straightens and leaves by the least near exit, who is to roam my want now?

———

adolescent crouches

trying, trying to navigate

its opaque something

filling out into unknown

shapelessness, crayon in the

ideas to an almost discolour-

full landscape

tears drawn from darkened

places, now to choose my

face, whoever i am

whilst

days fell their

edges away

whilst

afternoons

cease and pass

life

still as

glass, still as a gaze reflected back as the loneliest gaze

waits, waits like a glued mantis, like a stiffened pillow under a coffin’s lid, like fatigued wings in a spider’s formal grasp

friendships

had, now

pale, beyond renewal and going paler

the platform is empty where childhood and all its fluttering, all its kaleidoscopes, taken, and the kites downed

and the beaches bare

having loved

when summer

made its bones older

and clocks sank

back to lonelier, as

adulthood fell, utter canyons

———

interrupts my

senses,

nearness in all

rubescent blushes

mycelial meshes

reroute, re-tangles

song from its hum,

nearly the moon entirely globes

careful colours exceed

coral kaleidoscopes in

such reefs, blisses all,

and drowning completes

———

careful as ink

recites its own blood

onto snowiness

onto disinterested pages

i

rebury

you

there

make mortal of

the strangle of,

you fastened

there

keeps

like

a bulb

of its limitless sun

memories

molten, none

will or can

form their land or their scapes

again

———

planetary hopelessness -

the mind’s awkward orbit

into down-ness where each constellation rubbles

this late autumn of us

the throwing down of aged

hands, used to count each

finger’s touch each ruby

blissfulness, every compliance

head’s a hole for the moon

to shrug, and coldness unsettles

words, they opinionate finite pages

autumn of our brokenness

has spirits fled, the lake

mirrors deadness mirrors

our separate gazes, in

opaque worlds farther away from one another’s lightning

let us carry the corpse

of sullen november

carry it to the bled horizon, onwards and gone

———

he is

he is

honeycomb

where

the lie is

re-caged

i

aged

there

for ages

until

the black

constellations -

ripped,

sex

darkened

its

scripted

hiding

the

tides of

your

struggle

i conform

as still un-supple coral

he is

places

where

solace

cannot

try

the

home you

left me

in is

bored

of its own skin

———

sadly

the fire has

worn out its

flame

and

quiet simply

observes

simply builds -

itself

into

graveyards,

i know -

i am named

there, its

stone already

a tooth

sadly

myself

where the

hollows are

time is

passing its

life, constellations

leaving the mind

———

still now

quiet now,

sleeping -

colours, hid now

silhouetted tree

handshakes the

still stillness that

is in reach

garden cocooned by

fences with shadow

that stretches, that occupy

minnows of clouds

taper in starriness, in

vastness of its gaze

lost there

unable there

follow there

traces of where

a moon should

exhibit white emulsion

i

museum

here

i

am where

i breathe

there is music

trying to be

thru some near-

by window

this night

unable to

catch its dream

a frost gown

is settling out

its dead dress

italics stiffen

written on the outside

edges of plants,

already or almost corpses

i

borrow

myself there

still now

quiet now,

sleeping -

colours, hid now

———

at edges

at the field’s

emptiness

aloneness is wrapping itself heart wise, deeply in the bandages that cannot be told to anyone

complicit

lightning

nerve endings,

masked with, make the river hidden, the tongue ties itself into quiet into oyster, like

flames

trying to

lick outwards

to wear further oxygen, pull back their magenta red limbs, make their cots cold, eerie and icy

———

imagined how the spires would be, would they fit into my new way of thinking or be upturned slow as sinking? drowned there for foes to collect to make my skull empty? the city tho black shouldered is agape, it has tales, all are strangers and do not let go of their hellos, sardines in obese buses have us swapping breathing, people constant in their unravel chase perfect pictures that are never in reach, a boy i feel flames from glances with a message, i try but cannot take root in his gaze, too many widened faces are chalk watching each other containing blazes, one is built of touches who will later be beaten, rain now pursues

windows, outside grey as pigeon backs, an aged person rattles their conscience then leaves, it is what thought carved out, everyone is nameless, passersby cloudy, few have lay-bys in their hearts for rest to occur, some a skies hollered at, a few are graves already, imagine myself less lonely in this city of unachievable domes

———

over as

an eyelid shuts

as a building’s

mouth condemned

enormous as

goodbye, or a

hotel of lost faces falls,

ghost of fragments in its mirror copy of a lake

like mine its glance said

over

like the grasses

receded with blows,

the shore upon itself holds wrecks and tired skulls, all had cranial butterflies once

the scar is

known and will

never be whole, it

houses such sad, sad cold paintings

hurtful as a thorn

———

head is

low,

it is cold

for

march

and its

entrails

of hope

my

anniversary

of

repetitiveness

its suitcase

of old

black leathery

skies

went

the way of

superb stars,

that was back

when past hadn’t

grown itself, over-

head is dark

now, its binocular

brilliance i’d be a

gaze amongst all of them

now is

glared

bright as a

word

that only stays

deep in its

goodbye, most

of having is

lost, i had

my father in

a gather of

dewdrops -

held him

that last once,

this is how

loss is a falling

of air off a high

granite cliff where

the seagulls eddy,

alone is -

a coast all of its

own a flint deep

path, it has skeletons

in calendar jumpers

old birthdays, cakes

full of weather,

now is broke and

pours itself out until

what was plenty

upwards i so dreamed

about, is empty

here

nearly has you -

faded, rhizome and all

decades of

now the hourglass is

slipping its last fine rain

tuesday into monday’s sameness

sat there for memories to tire

for their stars to slowly puncture

to slowly jade or pass away in jars

minutes thoughtful falling towards disappearance, it’s where we all go, to the grey to the deeps of shadow named as home

———

pale woods pale boy

crouches then sits among

the fallen ferns - lies there

as ages stretch, awhile of

clouds appear and seem

then ghost

hears noise separate and

alone, chases with a finger

a pale leaf that flutters down,

castles upwards in their

slow flailing, a bird from its

old beak says something

pale hands are yet to bud

yet to describe the sun which

is still pale in mind, paths

tripped with brambles and

undecided smiles, sketches

of people some are deception

———

i am in a ghost again, its pale journey of disheveled touches, maps that can’t be glanced at, has no breath only revisited museums again and again, that memory keeps on darkening, it unsettles the hills and bends all trees at will, it’ll snap those too stiff, i try and bend until it is ultimately coming to an end, all this for clocks i pace like a straggler in amongst them, trying to find find stillness but the landscapes of you don’t tire, i am in its death again trying to make sense of the sketches that i been in, of a smile that wraps its snake, there i grew a jaded house and separated myself from my mouth, i have travelled the bones of mosaic emptied lanes, split apart pictures in their hanging photograph frames, an angel in a cot of buried flames, i try to smudge its spark but it relights again and again

———

havent

quite managed

to re-word my

world yet

words aren’t built

they are fragments

of a love that

couldn’t

unreachable as

ever is, may as

well try a held

ghost

or a breeze thar

does not want to

be kept, or a pebble’s

dance upon water -

before it sinks

to an underneath

of dark and roaming

swirls

where nothingness

is ever said, but its

emptiness large as

a lake is meant

———

i am oyster i am hid, i am a garden with no path to decide in, it is where chasing is fled, there is a flame to try and rebury it, accomplice i have none, only a clandestine winter in ruined red, in the heart’s kept secret width, out there, there are lions, rip-aparts, and people with kisses smashed into faces, a foe of a church with very dld language, a book of lightning, and a throe of priest throwing about hate, i am delicate in the blood of being young, my sex isn’t initialled but has a glow for shame, you broke me, you gave out lies until i am nowadays un-lived in really and time only wasting

———

been chasing the moon for awhile

tonight it stabs over and across the

silhouetted scape, a below of, silvery

lighting details of cages

i dream there wide awake in the sum

of my stone house, under the sliver of

its beams under its weight, i feel then

i don’t, am a castle stood amongst waves

i have chased for a lifetime but grasping

keeps being rewritten, a man bursts out

of a boy, its childhood’s mouth lay out

its dead voice there, deleting its static

———

days are losing

volume

minuted by what

we perceive as

dead

i dwindle here whilst blank, rereading the same verse repetitive as gnarled outward spring, calendar being gnawed and less is written upon, less friends resume their traces

details becoming

absent, mispronounced

weather is on its

way like a disruptive

guest

loneliness fleshes me

so, has tough scaffold

where nearby tries to

erode, i talk to the breath

upon a window’s pane

same clothes as yesterday

stubble trying to be gorse,

that hearse of a thought

keeps its grey wheels

wet

moaning clock tells me i

have been home far too

long, i am becoming a

print in a chair shaped

like a cough

the hills haven’t cleared

their sulk, tree upon tree

drips its morose-hanging-

damp like drowned moths,

worded with moss

easy evenings back-

seated with quiet i am

trying to be a listener

but nothing is that

particular

the letterbox has tongues

unopened, a certain type

of dust likes to collapse in

dances, i compile everything

that has gone

———

crawl, it is only towards death

the trees are bowed low and

hollows for the wind to find a

tune in

rooks sit iced like gloves, jewel-

dark where eyes should be lit

crawl with the past dragging its hoarded

hole, that familiar flame of knowing

someone, they are dusk now upon

walls

———

i am up there with the dead

roaming about its grey estate,

mind a state of wires and whirs

like a gear adding to a constant

wheel, it spins like a crash has

a revolver with a suck at its end

i have kept this heart worded

with lightning, worded with

comets, they shriek before

silenced, before they outdo

and die from light, i am sung

with lovers and their deadened touches

there are knives in a cup beside

a bright blood sink, where the taps

cry into, leashed there for the sun

to drag across the pane, the same

pane i am lost onto, a shark of a bruised

cloud smothers the beams that were allowed

i am stuck there with winter forming its

pastry white bones, hole is inside hole

where it’s mandatory to fall to lie like

a book’s frayed spine, and wish the well

deeply around like a snug lumen, hope

has no coin, maw above my head about to gulp

there are faces in their drowned selves

part sellotaped screamed part stiff as

bark, a hello from a ghost that has a

suitcase of broken babies each a steal

hard daydream, plenty are thorns to

taste, peculiar as thought twists its aneurism

i am nought, less than crouched dust,

an image that keeps on damaging

itself, a thrown look onto a mirror’s

tiger’s teeth, bad place bad as gone

off words takes my terrible head

downwards with all other rotted eclipses

———

unwell,

god is dead,

spirits and their

light bulbs hasten

outwards yet

deleted themselves

instead

outside is

warfare for the

damned, the

constellation fell

broke itself, smiles

are obsolete, corpses

of the lonely swell

———

all

that there

is, “was” is engraved, the past in its swollen waves

a contemplation

about nothing,

everywhere in flux of going, another grows pale

i have lost myself in the year that will bury me

a reentry of

falling, where cold

faces bleed in silent amphitheatres, in silence of

becoming slate in all greys

all about to fade

i have days of

worsened roots

they grow into

enamelled months,

a music without song

careful as the

clouds come, i

watch myself slip thru the gate of its mouth

ghost of an evening

unsure of being recent,

here is uncertain