Archive

Monthly Archives: January 2015

I came home at 4am
and dissolved like sugar onto the bed
day creeping back in again
with a slow flare of celestial
chorale.

I woke up again at 6
the low thrum of obsession still
beating through me
heat rising up the walls as I
am sick from the summer air
a sensation of sinking into wet sand
and scent of the coming sea.

And then he came.
A warm body pushes through me
the loudening chorus and
lap of the crest, the grief of the crave
hidden like old letters
in his desk drawer back home
breathing underwater
a swell builds, our never-ending
return and recall.

The day is still young.
We lie back and sink in
quite soon we’ll begin to see
that we are each-other’s
biggest regret.

Advertisements

Hello everyone, I don’t even know how long it’s been since I last updated but I know it’s been a very long time. I’ve been finding it really difficult to write really but due to a number of things i’ve decided now’s a fine time to start again. It’s mainly a feeling of nothing-ness I’ve been struggling with; without my identity as a writer I don’t really feel like I am anything at all, and I don’t want to feel like ┬áthat any more so I’m going to start writing again. It may be howlingly awful, but it’s time to start again. This poem is called The Donor and I hope you enjoy it.

Please stay in your car, I said to you that evening.
You sat there frigid. In the pub, the day before, we
still sat one-on-one, & these were your opinions: that
this was your life; that you cannot predict if trains
will be late; you cannot control the body count of
days that will lay themselves in front of you.
Some people call the police in times like this, so
they can be dismissed and left to die.

Remember me falling in the lake? You are doing
this now. Throwing yourself into cold water and
throwing yourself in again. We close friends stay
crucified in solidarity to you, the sun melted our flesh
we are beginning to grow it back – what’s left.
I might have let you in and shown you some things I like:
my typewriter, some poems, a drink or two.
I could have saved your life by showing you
a red lightbulb in the study lamp at my bedside
pooling the room with diaphanous light.