1:15 could be 7 make no difference A mind is plastic I feel the top of it against my hairline Soft bits blood, love, out downwards into my frame full of it Like some rude mix of fright and highs Not really doing much just lying here dreams pooling Taking a breath see the dark usually don’t Out of my current soaking it Thinking out of my skull into the night
Purple pops from steel Colours of train and rain Bounce blue like my swollen Frostbitten sausage toes No tree this year It’s all I can think about As the numbness travels up the carriage Into my leg and consciousness Are we too late? Being slow? Feels like I’ve left something Not sure whether to go home For the keys We used to play this game Finding the big tree So big The boot would hang open I’d watch the road underneath The hazy white lines Green spikes In my pockets and shoes I could fit a big tree In this train Then I’d see the tracks Going by
Wash In this basin Dry On this ledge Fly When it clears It could be days Before weather breaks Open space Before the wings That provoke me Do lift Wash In this basin Dry On this ledge Fly When it clears
It was not until I saw In my reflection something hard, blunt I had not noticed, but had known Down in parts of me Buried but felt As my own tide turned It was not the water’s edge But clouds, those soft Open hearts, playing, dancing In space, with time, that I knew Parts of me had come to their end It was no stretch to suspect That I too Would age as those I watched and wished With youth I would not be Yet what is to really know Other than the passing of Days and their heavy Weight on those parts of us That wish to fly in the White puffs up there
A bellow comes from the distance. I can’t make it out, a slow beat no end, humming, now drowning out the cackle of crows I walk with singing for a dinner by death. The birds of blood hold their hover running rings around rings, something has pinned the sun still, to a point hanging from a spot it can’t break. Our boots find wet woodland that by day is joy, by night that grows to be void of love or any other shade than mud, no escape was, is, here. But a man alone throws bread to a corner of the river where a swan white as fire, guides for a feast and fill away from the cracks that; echo between the plump bushes, from snaps that whip from hills, holly silenced like a child’s call for food falling unanswered … as the moon hoists up to begin the coming night
December and you are still, quiet You have been and will be, here My feet tread on your open, toes All brown half covered by hard, slabs Cut into squares that hold, without Intention but because of, weight Your spine firm to this single, place The standing will make you go, shoot Orange sticks into the clear, air Above our homes to frequent, space The street knows has not been, kept For you must not delay, instead Rise past this beyond, away From steps below that will go, on
Do you know this rain? When off white Clouds of light, birth seeds of the sky Holding up high until they drop Burying down, wave after wave, like Arrows sharpened to fall and slice Land hard as rock and road Making lines where water slips, cracks And molten dirt, clumped and black, runs From the burnt crust of summer soil To it’s rest, calm flat and still The old lake in the woods, that we Love, and will always love, to come To find the grey wandering sky
When I was young I would play with my brothers on the grass and my white socks would turn green We would be outside until the windows were yellow with light and the sky was black You couldn’t see the ball until it hit you in the mouth and you needed mum In the evening and night you couldn’t see her flowers so there was no damage and that was just as well If we stay out I will keep on throwing and my hand will hurt but I won’t mind
The city is my life support But I am not from here, perfectly plucked Placed in this bed of flowers I am a resident, not a citizen My growth, exists to make others Busy doing the important work Happy to see the green things Are still here holding on They came and in the name of God Took my home whilst I slept Your holy city, not mine I no longer belong Now I watch my cause Stolen by others Burn, turn to rubble All around me Why did fate lead me here With no place To love or Return? As if trapped In a bed of flowers Dislocated From home
To be made the day must break only light can cut the dark. Left behind, splinters of white haze blanket the cool ground, hovering debris the only sign something else was here. Seconds pass the sun sees that it ends. The gifts of this half way between night and day vanish, the low orbit air of night replaced. I wish it would return I know it won’t. People come from their houses into the dawn; one, two, three now all at once school, work cars, bikes moving I hear a train in the distance doing things sweeping up bodies as it goes. We begin, anew in the light of day that pierced the sky of it’s dark
