Scissors or surgical knife my tools
to rid this world of Santaโs curse:
nesting, wanting, urging to become
like a pale beard of polar bear,
the Brow contemplates its fate
as I assassinate the sign
of ageing.
Shadows
You asked for a kiss, a kiss
on the cheek as I left; you asked
โ I gave โ
but you never reciprocated,
left me wanting, wishing
there was more to be, to be had,
to be needed, yes needed. You
asked for a kiss so we kissed
and we parted like we never knew
any better. You asked for kiss
from me, yes me, but I still wonder
why, as my lips grow dry and my hair
thins and slowly greys, as I slowly fade
into your shadows.
There is sunshine
Outside I scroll and scroll
Feeling nothing
But a premature birth
Of hay
Of fever
Twins of undesired longing
To scroll and feel
Its burning rays
Of wonder
There is sunshine outside
Her scrolls hidden
Beyond my void another nothing
Her birth called forth attention
Of the gods
Of the mortals
Twice her lifelong longing failed
To feel
My burning hands
In wonder
There is sunshine
Hidden outside life and death
Beyond our nothing
Of infinite births
From their rolling in the gods own hay
To our mortal and feverish lust
Our ultimate longing to join them
To feel
That burning desire
Of rays touching us โ a wonder
No Longer in Circulation
Her time was circular, returning once
every day, every week, every โฆ
every bleeding hopeless dream
in agony. Never free, never free
from the crimson curse. Like
stickers slowly stuck on to trace
her youthful years; another year
another calendar, another slow
forced feature of her cultural heritage;
another calendar empty until not,
and so her power grew, to wobble
then wilt, to scream and scream
until the deaf no longer cared a whit.
She said as much to me, but I โ
I only remember her first bleed.
Her time was circular, returning once
every day, every week the same
monotonous speak, a wall
of silence, peering eyes unmet
and the timid times
around gathered wood:
the circular table of taciturnity,
food fed to pigs in blankets
but snorting silenced
by wordless stares; worthless care
shaped her, men in white coats
caught her and flashing lights,
the red and the black, brought her
to needles: away away
please let me stay,
I remember her say.
Her time was circular, returning once
every day to the same place,
the same space,
of needless suffering, facing only
herself: reflections in a round mirror,
split hair and pale nails my lasting memory
of her.
Like Magic Moons
You slithering snake, tongue forked
And spitting,
My air guitar needs no tuning
Or tissues,
Our songs are screams at night;
Hollow yet bright
Like magic moons
Or Gouda.
Drought
Love? No. Thereโs none left, dry
the well once sparkling, dry
the tired eye yet searching, dry
the silent throat still burning, dry
the desert of dreams: mirages
no longer skim afar,
burning bushes wither,
the whispers of night
turned cold.
Love? No, the torrent times are over,
the flower blooms
no more.