29 April 2013

the gone
the ghost
the last train home

28 April 2013

I am a graveyard
if I cant dance
so I do and I do 
and I eat 
the night 
with ambivalence and yen 
kissing both cheeks using no words
kin of old queens
kin of queer
kin of sharing
your last cigarette 

27 April 2013

in the ask
in the hips
of hello
and the abstract
sense of time
it's nice to meet you
in the grey
ocean of your mouth
and the history
of your skin
in the tide
of your tongue
it's nice to meet you

26 April 2013

you multiplied
into your skin 
into the concrete hymn of the bend
it was data
it was tender as the bite
it was an arrow 
it was blood
it was an outline
a calm
circumference that coiled
into the meta

24 April 2013

swallow the swelled 
sense of rage
the pinch points 
the punch
the context
through the needle
into the wider 
mouth of us
draw blood

23 April 2013

  sign the waiver
eat the wind
the fragrance of jest
the realness of skin
eat life
in its own hardness
unpick the myth
of potency
the sickness
of stars

22 April 2013

I think it was you
that long Friday night
flat out on the platform
puking blood
I had to roll you over
hold your hair
out of the way
now your walking through the station
Monday catching in your throat
like a bookmark
and tired

21 April 2013

how the shadow stills falls  
at the same time of day
slanted like the skin
of the margin 
I made
weight of the knot
and the why
cost of a tongue
in a fat blue sky

20 April 2013

and it's not eloquent
your wife
wears her best top
not to  overdress but
to ricochet the expectation
you put £500 quid
behind the bar
so we drink to your time and your
gentle way of being
your sisters in their soothing
irish tongue
sit at the table and talk
about their drive here and the food
I wish
I knew the bones of you

18 April 2013

the fog 
of a cut out moon
the bloodline
the road
blending with the bend
a square
on a square on a square
roots splitting truth
into roof top hues
fists that aren't
really there

17 April 2013

you are made of ink
of hospitals 
of home
your breath is like a fist
made of sleep
you sit like silt
like a border
like a line
deciding where to bend
your pulse
belongs to doctors
to machines
you are made of half the story
your the end of my shift
your my bus ride home
your this thought now

16 April 2013

the stalled train the anger the rage 
that crawls into your face 
in through the eyes the teeth the feet 
the way your body 
is an instrument you play you play you play 
until the strings are worn the question 
and sliding 
down the perspex 
onto the ragged heap
of rush hour blues that accrued before it
before your minor key spit 
added to the blend
of I wanna get home and all the wanna get homes that came before it

15 April 2013

broken like the light like the pulse
the walls are walls are walls are walls
incessant how the curtains
still need ironing
after the wash the wash 
the wash they hang 
in the only lick of sun
on the line the line the line

14 April 2013

  I washed the dishes with fingernails full of poems
  I watched the cut lip sunset turn truck stop pale
  unfolding the crow the crow
  unfolding me
  he said to me that winter is the way you breathe
  I kicked the gravel and his dark
  and washed the dishes 
  with fingernails 
  full of poems

13 April 2013

                like origami
                folded through the I 
                the we
                and why not
                this low tide of slices
                bent and grooved into
                the old
                into the old
                sense of self
                foetal bar code bliss
                illusion and her skin
                illusion and the strong
                wet grip of theory
                like origami
                folded through the I

12 April 2013

      scraped into the hue
      forked split staggered
      into the apex
      into nothing
      neglecting a quiet smile
      kissing all the synonyms
      and antonyms
      as if I mean it
      just in case
      in case

11 April 2013

  on closing my mouth
  the constant angle
  of an alphabet 
  a coastline 
  of words
  of punctuation
  between the teeth
  marking the omission

10 April 2013

before the thought, and after


09 April 2013

the day didn't curve
it stayed perfectly still
it stayed easy
between shoreline and affection
the broken lampshade
into pieces
into my hand
light bulb bare
it broke easy
the crack
I'd been tracing for weeks
cracked wider
into the skin

08 April 2013

I ask you in callouses
in the callouses of my tongue
looped together
in the blues
in the lowest chord
in flat notes
in tune
I ask you in knots
and scars and smiles
I ask you in islands
in the islands of my tongue
I wait in the shade
and I never explain
I ask you in islands

07 April 2013

I hope in the curve
that rarely curves
and the force
is not force at all
it's a slip
of the tongue
a wish for roots
that are wide
and deep
and awkward
I hope in the curve
that rarely curves
I hope in language and how nakedly it breathes 
I wish I 
hope in the curve and in the eaves
of sacrifice
I hope

06 April 2013

valuing honesty
and the crooked way it spills
all the may
gathered in threads
in pulsing knots

05 April 2013

"silhouettes are slip roads" she said
"and bones are bones"
her question ssssss
put skin on the skeleton
old skin
old as the ache
in code in code
ssssss she
split the oak tree
with sawdust on her lips she was just below the surface still
deeper than the root

04 April 2013

girl eats the wind
it tastes like Tuesday
it tastes pignut white
she plays rock paper scissor
inside her mouth
dumb tongue versus
dumb tongue
exfoliating madness
with a salty
cucumber scrub
skin smooth as wise
saying nothing of the women
she has loved
for what is there to say except
they taste like Tuesday
they taste pignut white
they play rock paper scissor
inside her mouth

03 April 2013

Wednesday we
gather into complex needs and envy
the trees
without their ribcage
and joined
Wednesday we

02 April 2013

holding onto the romance of death (or the sentimental margins of loss)

and the moss didn't move
just like the honeysuckle
didn't seem to care
beneath the earth
between azaleas and daffodils
every finger
and thumb
covered in dirt
in the blood of dirt
as if the garden had skin
and I had peeled it raw
and ragged
you and
the dust of you
one slow slim lick
of the wound

01 April 2013

Peterborough Services

here again like ghosts
I walk half the oval
holding your weight
between my hands
pushing you through
the winding queue for burgers
between blue neon arrows
waiting for the bolt to slide
your body
lifted slowly
and after
I washed your hands the way you
had washed mine
was and is
the was and is I walk
half the oval
remembering your weight
between my hands
that old wheelchair now
returned the things
you have to give back
the places
that remind you