Thursday, January 04, 2018

On hand and knees, she leans over,
cups her palm to your ear,
whispers,
You know what writers need?
Heartbreak;
Unrequited love;
Broken families.
Of feast and famine,
they breed on starvation.
Hungry words make for pure sustenance
of ugly creatures.

Pour them out,
until you are dust.
Every filament burnt out in your eyes,
but bursting with light in the depths of your ribcage,
illuminating a thoracic wasteland.
As your heart sputters,
the letters become bold like key strokes
on the typewriter you no longer use.

Wednesday, January 03, 2018

Your lust is amusing.
What play-thing have you discovered
to fit the heart-shaped grave that you dug
in precious moments of conviction.

From her hair you weave a crown,
dirt-stained and brittle,
a symbol, you say, of your love.
What a shallow bed you've carved.
It, too, will wash away with the rain.

Long nights await you,
and days that leave you heaving.
Parched,
your words will be like sawdust,
hewn from the spats of a sometimes lover,
that you just can't forget.

This grave site is a sorrow-making place
and you have nested here
(this place you call a home)
to grow old and rot,
beside the heavy idol
of her tomb.

I see through you like the glass
that you are made of.
Pick up your shovel;
You are not done here.

My thoughts return to you constantly,
unbidden and miserly.
Washed away like soap bubbles,
slipping down the drain.
I can forget you
if I just let you drip down my hands,
fall onto porcelain,
rinsed away by my dampened will
and thought alone.
The resounding echo of you
fades away with every passing moment.

But day-drunk,
(oh darling)
I miss you effortlessly.

Tuesday, January 02, 2018

Don't talk to me of your temperance.
Foolhardy, you leave me
an opaque reminder;
a stubborn ghost.

Don't tell me that you don't drink her in
when she crawls in to your bed,
this blinking, dewy creature.
Half-light seeps in through drawn curtains
and you can't breathe for a moment.

How intoxicated you are
that you can't find a breath
through all your carefully placed words.

I hope it feels like drowning.

Your whores
are the reason I wake
early morning fretful.
I am disguising charm
for appetite.
Your painted messages
nauseatingly perfumed
like you had bathed in the oils
of lust itself.
Forget to remember me,
the one of many,
thrust up under your teeth,
an annoyance you'll temper
until it festers.
Every moment I am blind
and searching
(knees wrapped in cellophane)
for a new way to hate
you;
in love.

Monday, January 01, 2018

Dear,
How deep and dark does this road go?
When you say you know love
do you mean it?

The shadow of you
at night
longer than it ever was,
obscures my sleep.
Heart hammering
Full stop.
Crashing into your depths
Drowning in the shallows.
Forgive me.

I want to tiptoe across your bones
Wade into your lungs
As you sigh
And speak to me
As if in tongues.

I wake up
distracted
unfolding pages
upon pages
of heart ache
like counting bones
on your rib cage
as you fall asleep
beside her.
I am awoken by demons
I cannot begin
to number.

She suffers in long silence
Winded by the obelisk that marks your grave.
Light breaks across her chest
And she screams her hate,
black and dripping,
it covers the solid ground where you lay,
Unaffected.

Sunday, December 31, 2017

I am haunted by a vision of you
that I can't describe.
Can barely look at.
Day drunk and reeling.
Repeating the consonants you said to me
Over afternoon tea.
Your partially obstructed breathing
sticky and sweet
Congeals into phrases that conceal your meaning.

Be true to me.

For I can't bare to look at you
anymore.

That ache you feel
when you
leave,
that is the very heart
of me
beating a hollow sound,
vibrating each tendon
like striking the keys
on a piano.

The dissonance of notes
as they fall
across the precipice of my collar bone.
The pattern my breath makes
on the cold tile.

This is how I remember you...
That ache when you leave,
it's my favourite song.

"Oh love," I just want to write
on whetted stone
"I'm just the right amount of torture
in just the right time"
Blood heaves near my temple
waiting for you
to carve scripture
across my bones.

Saturday, December 30, 2017

Dearest your unholy scriptures
Are written for blind eyes.

The things he says
I might as well be
adrift in the ocean.
His tongue is sharp
but I don't believe it.
The wreckage is too bent
and broken to salvage,
The hurt too great
to bare bruised flesh,
And the waves they whisper
Let it drown.

Your words are too heavy to carry
When you drive them into my back
Humming a tune that makes every fall of the hammer lighter;
My airways shallow depths
That conceal her lies.
The ones you spoke to yourself
(they crush her, contort her spine)
far too many times.

Thursday, December 28, 2017

Let's keep the demons at bay
by lighting matches and burning effigies;
We watch ourselves aflame.

A fine mess we make.

Our hands are an island,
and your heart is beating over the sound
of blood rushing in my ears.

The pyres are laden with our sighs.
Heavy lightness sprung from ashes
and our paper apologies.

There is too much we left unsaid
in the drawers and cabinets of your childhood.
They flicker and catch
as our eyes follow the words we could not speak,
focusing our attention on the syllables
as they crack and hiss.

I miss you already.
I hate it when you leave me for so long.

There is something we don't speak of
You and I.
The glass cuts your feet
As I slip behind the balustrade.
A careful hush.
I'm gone and your footprints echo,
A resounding heartbreak.

At night I crash into your quiet.
A stumbling drunk,
marred by frivolity and words
I am unable to possess.
A darkening hallway,
A broken crown,
And the moments before you leave.

She speaks in tongues,
while his words;
They are my bedtime stories.

Thursday, December 21, 2017

Here I reside
Waiting on you to exhale
So that I can be breathed in again.
How can I be whole
When you stand there with both feet planted
And I lean into the crosshairs.

Wednesday, December 20, 2017

And I'm replacing one obsession for another.
Faltering across your ribcage.
Each breath comes heavy.
The weight of your silence
replacing the weight of your bones.

Sunday, December 07, 2008

And I will stir inside you

Saturday, November 29, 2008

Turn your heart away
From me.

Sunday, November 23, 2008

Soaken bones and treaded heart pulls at ocean fingers and tore apart.
I've longed to kiss you and you don't know it.

Thursday, October 30, 2008

II

I wake.

The air weighs heavy here.
I trace longing on your temples.
Could we be fortunate?

Light is dripping down the windowsill.
Your skin is bruised with shadows.

You are draped in a coat of grief.

You go where I cannot follow.
You are the wanderer.
And I am shaking from the loss.

Where have you gone when you are so close?

We belong to the gutters.
Children born of black blood,
Thickly coursing, weighing us down.
The will cut you,
Slice into your shoulder blades.

You will grow and dust the rooftops.

I will wake alone.
And ponder your small breath.
Old Notebook Pieces

I


She dreamt of colours.
Waking up in foreign sheets.
Gazing up at a canopy of stars.

She shows you how to move
In between the spaces.
The trees all bend their branches in.
Her lips have become
Too familiar.

You worry about the canopy falling;
Crushing you in.
You'll collide with the night sky.
Staying up all day,
Just to smudge the coordinates.

Under the pressure,
Her complexion is cracking.
And you worry.
You don't remember how to touch her
The way she taught you.
You can't find the spaces.

She is burning.
And the leaves have caught.
You wake up to repetition.
And find that she is gone.

Monday, October 20, 2008

Envious breath rolling down your tongue,
Slick, slippery, wet flesh.
Where will you go
Where birds will not shred
Your precious, taut, living skin?

They will see the worms
That live in your bowels.
That slither and twist blindly
Around your eye sockets.

They are flailing through muscle.
They are sliding down bone.

The pretty leaves have fallen
At your feet.
And beady eyes are hungry eyes
That perch near.

Where will you go
Where you will not, my love,
Be eaten alive?