Monday, September 30, 2013

This house is barely holding itself up
cracked through from floor to ceiling
beam to beam
wracked by three years' violent jolting

but held up by the two bodies transferring
around it; underneath it, in it
blessing their meals
tincturing their daughter's heartaches
inviting strangers in for one week stays.

Friday, September 27, 2013

Sunday, September 22, 2013

undo it and find knowledge
leave it ornament and remain ignorant
or undo it and also know how to reconstruct it

Wednesday, September 18, 2013

If I put music to it, would you allow me my esotericism? 

Tuesday, September 17, 2013

in-orchid

having lain back on the bed:
feet up the wall
music beckoning a shout in my ear,
the possibility of that drawer...
I wasn't reimbursed for it, so
hell, I might as well spend it

we're all sanity to lose
if not yet lost, coming -
"all's not lost," said they -
well who is 'they'? And who's
authority have I?
to lend my own ear to 
something conjured up on a Sunday night, Sunday

morning, mourning the loss of
hungover jogs through the city
(some of the times in which I feel most alive)
morning drags me towards itself, 
through sleep
I come out the other side
dishevelled, more lethargic than
when I entered my non-existent dreams
in unspoken hours,
having imagined how I was sleeping

in other beds, in other seasons, in other countries

with other conditions
Parkfield, Central Park
it's just a dodgy anagram, really
poor thing's lost a few letters
gained some it never meant to
found itself backwards
man, I understand that,

understand being
flat-backed on the bed
book in hand
totally immersed, but
not getting out.

Saturday, September 14, 2013

as how, when tramping
you go the
speed of the slowest
walker, now, the
left foot
must
slow down
for the right

Friday, September 13, 2013

fire

There's a
fright-lurch
panic-sink
shock-cold
fear-shake

latched on me,
that usually temporary grip -- usually
usurped by logic-survival -- is
sleeping with me tonight.

I watched the girl from down the road
throw up on a tree, her
little sister's bedroom
crumpled into their
lounge

the oranges and yellows making
silhouettes of the palm trees
better than any sunset could

Friday 13th, you've out-
done yourself.


Tuesday, September 10, 2013

from May

It's as if each time we return here, we are faced with incremental amounts of oddities to navigate. The challenge becomes greater each lifetime. More and more is required of us at each soulful advancement. It parallels our growth on each individual life: that the more we learn, the more that is required of us to be learned. Life, the exponential evolution of technology; yet our biological revolution remains steady, anchored in time. What are we to do?

I fear that eventually I will return and my bones will not know at all how to fold against the edges of computers. I will be sent with near-impossible tasks, the world driven irreparably forward by expansion, my settled self wishing only to walk, read and eat. 

Friday, September 6, 2013

michael (again)

Look who's back on the doorstep:

that old enigma
that familiar slouch
in scapula, in cardigan,
in burned-out eye-grin
sheepish -- yet
un-apologetic

neck on neck a brief moment
shoulder under clavicle in greeting

through the door, into present
conversation ...
back to table, past ...

I slip elegantly back, the
habits of
those ideas,
compelling as they are
as you are, in first moments
... as anything is, in time; until time.

and sure, the first: "You on painkillers?"
in foot's direction, a small nod

and I explain, "it's
  too much effort
either for you, or for your liver
I don't have time" (or patience, and
I'd have even less time if I did --
him being the catalyst many
wasted evenings, afternoons, days)

"I've spelt my encoding
it lacked warmth
I slept
that was it

but if you want them, they're
yours." Which is
more or less
what I said
in the kitchen
last October
without words

Then it stunk for ages.

my pragmatism suggests
opening drawer, follow through
but I just
close the door, and
go to bed
without goodnight.

Tuesday, September 3, 2013

to bed

my eyelashes have clamped themselves to the
tops of my cheekbones, but my
thoughts, like restless children rampant on a kindergarten mat
refuse to sit still

Monday, September 2, 2013

dear

in the overgrown
back yard, on the
second day of spring

I slip the corners of my
garments off my
newly freckled
shoulders

I am
home alone; sunshine