Desert

I hadn’t had a chance to bury her this way before,
The little discs of silver shimmering between the sealing wax -
Her face empty to the moon, her eyes sealed tight
Almost like she didn’t want to see

I laughed, the whole great study of it all –
Too much like drama to move the theatre outdoors,
Too grand by far for this forgotten dryad
Left rotting on the forest floor for leaves and worms to munch on

She turned to me and said “Boy, you’re confused –
I am not Persephone.” That look said it all, the wax
cracked open when she talked, the coins fell sidewards
And clattered to the dust, bare and silent

“I’ll be yours at the Orpheum tonight” I said -
Tilted so, I watch her dark skin glisten once again and reach
trembling towards me. I can’t be hers either - so I leave her to the Styx
and its dark judgement as I creep my way out of the desert.

Blink

{rabbitpunch}


Boxing assignation and stutter-fly beats lead
up a garden path to squeaky clean hands
Fluorescent tremors tick their own list
And filthy paper-boys deliver vials with their bare hands.
Mittens tied together with paper trails and the seeping
crushing imagination of a corporate giant,
Lose yourself in the sheer collaboration of it all -
obsequies humour and little else left
but slowly seeping dyes and quiet royal indolence,
This and many other testing trials rig their hung-recesses
like so many cowbell-fairies and dope anvil sprites - you and
all our lazy contributions to the waning genre of sleep
collapse into silent collusions like wartime poets dipped in liquor –
this, for one brief desolation, is your arcadia, not pastoral at all,
not some far-off tranquility buried deep in smoke and hills
but here in steel-grey artifice and the sloshing gargle of pure gold.
Blink and you’ll miss it dear, this terrible world, blink and you’ll miss it maybe.

e

excise the offending cliché

the wailing face of dawn

carve your indifference into art

and balance your new Judea,

born of ashes and dust-bowl sentimentalities

cast forth your hand dear arch-angel

blessed with eternal fire, cursed to

righteousness in a world of none,

we more than your why with

our when fly in the face of

seething flame with our

honoured indifference.

22

Sugar pox pie

I held you to your burning

Stiletto fucking goodness, the colour of ochre on a Sunday

Twisting your ankle on ice-cream in the middle of a circus

Beginning to understand the lessons of consent

Reaching past your face to pick an apple off the sky

Deep demented wanderings in dark remembered halls

Consecrated cream

Idle motifs and seven fat cows

Search and you shall…

Eatable intersections and far-away eyes

Kings-Cross lollies stuck to your shoe

Plays so righteous it hurts

Wanted for delinquence, solvent combatants

Venice waits for you

Anthing else

Tell tale solace, grave incidental managings

trouble consolvent ambiance – too much interest

solid-state graphic dire-nothings

Understated deaths crawling on dismembered artifice

Surely it’s ok to…

negate the darkness – sold on turnpike intrusions,

illusionary memorandums steal our resolution like

Moth-seraphs driven to vexed rage by the lies of a thousand

Incidental men

Should have known what it’s for, understanding carpal vision,

wistful rain relentless peeking droplets -

ceaseless fucking humming grinding out the insides

like a potter on his mill grinds ivory to dust.

This and other oblivions chose you this time round,

share your no this time round,

seem big front carapace comes crackling down

stiff front ended gin-sipping dandies –

hang em by their neckerchiefs

Divinal devotion – don’t think you’ll do it –

Grab the twisted and wrench

Because waiting out the nights raging in-eloquence will

be the very ending you desire from all your craving stories,

whilst out in the hill and trees the familial ties you bind

scrape one another to a new canvas meandering.

Push my eyes out with tomorrow’s remembering,

the filth of arbitrary decadence removes itself again-

amazing in the sparkling morning revisionism we never

slept held drug plagued licked each others darker places…

Thought to let you feel all though I fall you’ll be my side

this grave-yard gaming – flash-bang naughtiness and sultry

night time forget-me-not ground into a juice we can paint

ourselves out of this corner and be once again

You and tiny minds

Me and every day

Near your gift red-treasure curses grab my time

fling my fortune to the wind, go fret on sunken eras

when all the care you have is ashed in a box in some rainy time you

might never want to visit if the waxen seal is broken don’t venture out

for fear of the rain’s dark fluency

Who you’ve done is no concern of mine –

our parents are destined not to know us as your writing made out,

so I’ll keep a gift from them so they have less painful answers to wrap their arms round at night and press a button to down more forgetful concoctions.

Keep my armistice to myself lest my peace seep into yours

and I be dragged into this bliss you call your anniversarial connivance –

Did you emerge from some dark filmic shadow deep with noir and deco niceties gasping at the purpleplague you spread from someone else?

Did you cry when you knew? How did they announce that inevitable breathing cessation - it will not be – too much more nothing sadness’ arching grief.

Steal me for just a second to know your absence – make me not the power of aware

dread-filled consciousness,

A sleep less troubled by your leaving,

A world less gaping in your heaving destruction

A world less hollowed by your deficiency

A world less me than anything else