death day
gloom becomes
inkier
blackcurrant
deeper
dusk warblers
salute the passing
of shapes, perished
outlines -
this soluble day
that inch of edges
buries all, chlorophyll
whisperers, root to
anchor quieten
silhouetted traders
unwrap cinders,
charcoal nocturne’s
its gazing
sea-slowed-muffle,
daylight shrugs off
from lichen liked
boughs
an entirety of sleep
wades thru’ the
shadow molested
grasses
inked air
deepness into
every thorough
window
stars, pinched irises
of chrome-width yet
on full glint, such far-
away sparkles hint-
someone is watching
makes the heart glow
better, knowing, cold
is achieving its collars
a sleek glove of knives
patrols sliding thru’ wind-
whipped-convulsing-fingers,
leaf shiver and muse-
about the near rust that is coming
the plough is left awkward-
elbowed for dew to confess
oxides to fasten, wet and sturdy
for morning
steeples about repeat their
vanish, a raven’s wing
crosses the land where
scarce pheasants scarper
and the mind's
rubble vacates
and
replenishes
a ghosting month
attended to by
another anniversary
attended to by
shadow
here, a copy of
tears is added to,
compiles my ocean
of deep shivering blues
i am sure i see you
roam where the pale
orchids grow and white trees
lean up against the palest hills
a river tends to and is
whispered-upon-caresses,
does the white hawk even
notice?
i am unsure of within my
own heart unsure of grief
that never exerts absence,
colour abandons grey
you are not stood or here
always near my senses,
where you stride in the
whitest of woods, do you
ever glance back to watch
the window occupied where
shade only multiplies? see me
in that wreathe of dusk
that continuous lane
arched over and ached with
rust, silent wrists shuffle
the barely warm sun
i am always thinking of
that certain someone
the voice of which i can
never catch
under a moon’s melted
beam scarce few lit
the footsteps i truly
meant
moth stale
memory leafs there
thru’ the bronze and
quite broken corpses
yet another listening
month for the bare
boughs to approve
and winter to thicken
in hadean velvet
so
the world’s morose feels quieter
feels as if outdoors has been
stoppered
want
the loud sky to quieten more
to succeed with stillness
come mortuary clock
slow your stride, come
collect slowness
rainfuls
hear its lament
heart wise
it yearns to deafen
with abrupt walls
and wet voices
there’s a town out
there with interfering
voltage
with shadow made
churches offering
alternative bliss
knowing that each
person owns darkness
in their own social precipice
so i’ve put the stars out
and pricked the sun to
a numb stutter
seasons don’t consider
here, and days don’t have
hours to hold
refuse the narrative
of unrestrained others,
that’s lunacy enough
shrug the window’s
eyelid, discontinue
outside
here curled like an
ammonite, in a bed
made of dusk
here is rooted whilst
fading all anchors
fading in an envelope
can keep me here
what is contrived as
now
the globe is sleepier
less definite, more of
a hole, more of a plummet
i am un-worded and going,
retracting as a well made
secret likes to lie
unnoticed
and
forgotten
over into elsewhere
surely arrival has been reached
and the sky’s been stoppered?
nearly to the clock’s last minute
will i be nostalgic in its rust grimace
once that rainbow bridge has
been diminished?
tears are only salt nowadays,
only winter cried icicle masks -
thru’ that ice of someone else,
no one eyed for anyone
this the last window looked thru’
that last tapered cloud -
being swallowed by dusk in a red
almost fiery glove
where the horizon is crowded
antigens, skyscraper bodies all
there are no trundled trains coming
snakelike patience, no announcement
no message upon broken confetti or
reversal wither of returning sap
this is that edge that’s waiting to be
leapt, for all stood things must fall
all things must, another starry breath
trying to usurp the lungs, and sheets -
moon patterned cling yet another skin
to be free of once that fastening of
light undoes, awareness like a fading
autumn, replaced by a season of none
with sea in mind
edges are for sucking
smoothed out throating
from that claw of reach,
secrecy hid in each shell
continuous aquamarine
of greasy creases, an estuary
in musical mirrors, each sliding
sequinned dresses
gleams so nautical that
elsewhere is envy and
dull as netherworld water
no soul would wish
jet hair being dragged at
and oily rainbows pulled,
mackerel ghosts and the
wrecks of below
- seldom visited - but
lately waters the colour
of nerves, a moon so
hole like, insists on being
strode into -
like a lane’s rusty handprints
graffitied with almost memories,
rock pools gather childhood nets
glassy and full of lost gazing
a kite left there for agile crabs
to shoulder, as children we drowned
there in the midnight captured ponds
low tide only tho
residential herons stood stilted stance
when the cormorants appear, they aren’t
stiff like dead ballerinas but dropped rags
or messes of inked soaked cloths
there, fleets that groan there for the winds
to gnaw at and whittle, to grimace thru the
empty eyeless cabins, that myth of pilchards
oily as gleam-less-ness suffering the tide’s moan
surgical gulls strut the broken decks, if listened to
a bell is drowning its echo, its fisherman guts,
atoms at neptune’s asking call back to the sea’s
pale winter blood where all rivers go to decease