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On the chapped lips of lovers

Somewhere

Forgotten over time

A place that hurt

So terribly an ache

Felt like a fresh burn

Has been badly covered over

With paving stones uneven

Moss and lichen veiling crime

If someone deserning of pain

Saw

They’d immediately recognize

A broken, disturbed surface

Jagged and ill repaired

Lake without mirror

Time, a sad blessing

Where grief is concerned

What you thought you’d never recover from

Cut like totem in marrow’s deep

Doesn’t cease to be devastating

You simply forget the intensity

In order to not fall dead

The lessening is like laying a road, or putting up wallpaper

Layers and layers

You think it’s insulation

In many ways it works

Til something unexpected

Reminds you of how you really are

Behind all those layers

In all those crocheted boxes

Stored in denials, fickle womb

That pain you thought, softened

Is as strong as the day you first felt it

Love

Does not

Just whither up

And die

It twists blade upward

Unwilling, yet deftly

Cannibalizing those morsels

You thought most delicious

Til they become tormentor

Even licking fire, preferable

Than one minute more

The scathing and seal

Of pacts

Made in silent war

Where nothing is said

Hate and love, inside out versions

Of the same, mad drum

Beating relentless

Till one falls, one stays standing

Panting in flickering light

Of damage, desult and sate

On the chapped lips of lovers

Wicked in their apportioned

Vengeance

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life, poetry, prosetry

The hands of the lost

Sometimes

You pick the sinking ship

Recognizing within

Carousel parts of

Your own visit on earth

There is much wrong

In repeating mistakes or

Returning to well worn habit

When outcomes have proven they are

Dead roads and broken boats

It is not that you are

A martyr

Or even a fool

You do not wish

To bring yourself lower

But if you imagine life

As a well worn stoop

And whom you should feel

Most comfortable sitting there with

Then you will fathom

The type who finds themselves

Supporting the broken-down and

The fractured

For the sheer honesty of their response

And that well earned familiar

That you have known over and over

In the apologetic eyes of your own

And that trembling hand teaching through time

Asking you to

Be patient with my mistakes

There is something

Comforting and real

In a flaw

When all the city lights try to attain pearly perfection

Something you’ve never related to

Another language for

Early risers without grime stains behind their ears

The kinds who are punctual and routine

And do not make shoddy excuses for

Why they cannot lift the weight of the world

From their shoulders

People who may

Go on to take office whilst you seek

To survive and advance by understanding

What keeps the world turning

Which

Can be discovered

In equal amount

From the hands of the lost

As those who are found

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poetry, prosetry

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move on / lord knows / had it up to here with emotion and tell-all’s / give me some false with my cornflakes and a little fake juice

if you feel sad because nobody is listening, tune in

the record you play is scratched and everyone has upgraded to digital

their headphones drown you out truth-tellers / sorrow-spellers / drowned girls and boys

it’s their whim, their fancy, to inhabit the glory and the cavort

who taught you they wanted to hear about you?

those flashy egos who seek grandure, attention, praise, affirmation

do they place their hot hands on your grief? or pause and seek

anything but you

truth, it is said, doesn’t sell

honesty makes us tired

we want elixir, we need to be uplifted

read to me, tell me a bed time story with a happy ending and lots of pictures

in the news; photos are more popular in social media than words

says it all …

speak, speak no more

and if you do, ensure it’s after you take your pill

for you belong to the tribe of wonderment, nothing less will do

do not rent your heart online

do not display weakness or fear

whatever you do, don’t expose how it is

paint over / disguise / laugh / get pissed

and when you lay there feeling that sliced feeling in your gut

emptiness and her counterparts

when you bring the shards of glass closer

when you realize this is it, there is nobody out there

in this 7 plus billion world

less is more, more is less

how can we be so inhabited and so isolated?

do ghosts walk our lives with empty diaries?

the ones who crumple on their knees in the street

who picks them up and who hurries past?

with scorn written in their jowls

more and more we hang our heavy hearts

in places of silence and neglect

the pegs of our support, thin of reassurance and tenor

more and more we lose our truth in betrayal

and counter attack

until like a game, like a digital effect

we are not real, we are chess without hands

our feelings so siphoned and lost

they exist beyond us

it’s only when we feel the edge of the ledge

staring down into leaden rivers

then we know it’s all a joke

this idea we’re doing anything of worth

and the words you suffocated

trapped in throats like unhawked phlegm 

never to be spat

what would they if they could, say?

please

don’t walk away

please

listen hear me

please

need someone who is not perfect

please

feel

something

the girls who have friends

standing with gymnastic straight backs

smooth waxed hair and plump cheeks

talking over cigarettes, turned on by a switch

everything is different

until a man enters the room

all eyes flash in unison 

he has power

the girls prioritize the phallus

the boys are drinking fluoridated water cutting off their

reproduction

soon sexless frogs will spawn harpies

would it be so wrong if

we stopped now

at the cusp of our cruelty

died out before another era came, crueler still …

dominating fickle lay of shivering wasteland

another creed, another judgement

the Mormons are the largest expanding faith in America

do your research acolyte, then ask yourself

progress? Really?

who progresses when others are held back?

feet on backs of the fallen, that’s the way they roll

with tarnish set on high

we are the crushed on whom aniseed devils inherit kingdoms

sometimes I don’t care anymore

I just want to get into a boat and leave the shore

sail away to something of Huckleberry Finn

I understood him and his penchant for solitude

it wasn’t hate it was necessary isolation

from the wear and tear of jitter-bug humanity

gagging at the hurtling fense

with their sharp and mercilless claws

step down falsehood

let the wild hare, the quick footed fox

take over

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poetry

Lost though glimpsed

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If I had the power

I might do no more than this

sitting watching dust captured by light

as drowsy it drifts

or I may

do far more

dependant upon the hour of birth

runic stones thrown

alignment of planets

decisions ours and not our own

would it make sense to you?

that I found your burning sage madness truth?

only pausing when I could not follow the maze

for my pocked arms were ablaze

holding no feathers

if I had the power

I would ask you subsume the hour last

you felt a need to reveal and trust

and becoming green-tipped bird

I’d fly you into the mouth of your past

and becoming shivering fire bird

I’d conquer the elements of volition

causing you to shrug me off

as unwanted skin without use

I am slower than your torturer and you

If I had the power

though I have no way of encouraging magic

not even a fistful of lightning to raise our sum

stamping like forsaken giants roar

declaring; no you shall not

claim us

I am

too old by days and hours

by too many stared-at empty houses

with boarded windows rubbed dark

nobody is home to light the way

for either of us

don’t you see that’s why I always strained to hear?

my ear to the flat of your prison and mine

flaying xylophone chords with missing fingers

If you’d sat next to me when no-one looked we’d have merged into one

instrument

taken out of ourselves and the backward clock

a poison for some, is a cure for us

If I had the fusion

to dwell in your rage directed my way

I’d walk through maelstrom seeking reverse of fate

where, by watchful limb

we sit shoeless

wringing our bruised legs over yawning edge

one, two, three

let go of holding hands

If I had the power not to be me

and you had the power not to be you

both of us damaged and saved at differing points in history

overlapping star travelers

burning up the universe to reach through

this hijacked soul

lost though glimpsed

in warm breath on

cold step

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