13 March 2012

his loneliness my heartbeat

Atenolol his heart his heart
morning moves
in chinos and hem lines
multi storey car park
new brick slick economy of
pencil skirt smirk
hush now inbetweeners
spirit level schizophrenics
tip the bar
zip lipped sleeping bag
his home his home
Graham you have my fathers name
Tegretol he drinks he drinks
sinks into the lowest of his murmurs
cider by the litre thick with love
no needles
dual carriageway
Hemmingway without the Dakari's
he calls me a good girl, a lezzy
a sweetheart, his M4
assault rifle memories
numbed by the gasp of death he chose to take
and take again
wrists scarred by the fat belly of our
how we hope
with rope with rope
he lives
she is my love,
cupped in corporate hands, I do not own her, rent her or expect her to love but she does this perpetual agreement a peace a slice amongst a maelstrom of lengthening
bullshit hits me like a skin stripped revelation of grace laced with a kiss so sweet you'd beg me to share it she loves she loves no tide no pull no shitstorm a calm autumn late summer grew our quiet bones stitched me open the horizon of a city car park watermarked pages pure porous pull me in and in
I think thick through this hope
I think thick
through this hope billowing
blue stars and my


Diana Lee said...

Brian Miller said...

his M4
assault rifle memories
numbed by the gasp of death he chose to take
and take again

damn, wicked description...

and my love corporate cupped, from there on is a frickin rip

Pat Hatt said...

Wow, you just let loose with words in this verse, no shitstorm, just all waves of imagery, nicely done.

Kimolisa said...

one word - wow!!!!!

hedgewitch said...

The free flow of the words is like a torrent of cold river that has a few warm eddying pools, but mainly rushes headlong between its banks, carrying so much flotsam and wreckage, so many ripples of light and small living things. Fine writing here, you know.