Project

I sense you

jutting out there

a promontory

I can hang desire onto.

What a piece of work you are.

A devotional is in order.

A paean to who you might be.

Opacity of Meaning

It clouds, between then and now.

Meagre words

poke blindly
through
the page’s fog.

Half-lit
dying breath meanings

faltering
over our eyes.

Their faintly irregular pulses
clinging
to some memory we dare to allow.

paltry
translations
what we settle for
waiting for a like mind.

Decade

 

Starlike on a summer bed

 

 

Thoughts churning

to the creak of a cheap fan.

 

 

Sheets-

damp, wrinkly pensioners

 

 

exhausted

on the floor.

 

 

But She is electrified.

Outside time.

 

 

How you imagine Her matters not.

She is not there waiting for you.

 

 

Creak.

Us

You know me.

The breath you took at the end of that line was mine.

This readerly writerly warm dance

where our meanings mingle, wants intertwine.

Touch the screen.

Feel the sentences pulse in you.

Breathe again. Say the words aloud,

Alchemise what was unsaid in me

And know it.

You know me.

You know my next sentence.

I stole it from your heart.

Before we were even born

Our consciousness forced us into being.

Before Waking Destroys My Memory Of The Dream

Before waking destroys my memory of the dream

and I walk my mind downstairs back into the cellar.

Before the dawn ruins me,

timeless time within welcoming reach:

the real world held in both hands, one of them sleep,

I will throw candles in the afternoon.

I will draw the half-world,

open my heart to my head.

Separation and unity co-exist without contradiction.

Milkmaid

 

What we can’t see-

The system self-investigating.

 

Every fucking day.

 

I had a happy childhood,

I kept telling me.

 

Play and repeat.

 

You don’t miss what you’ve never had,

unless you learn what you never had.

 

Retrospective loneliness,

Unconsciousness rising.

 

Only child, I knew-

but not this,

this

 

Sisterlessness.

 

Yet here you are:

rewriting, rewiring me

 

No more unhugging.

No more force-fed lies.

 

The thin gruel of yesterday

nourished by the full-fat milk of your love.

Panther Me Crow

Out the window

and fondly, observant

of crow nature,

I coddled- ratchety movement,

velvety feathery tufts,

feral heartbeats,

black button eyes;

part of me, in here, crow too.

 

Lathered, shaving

amidst runny foam,

a nick of wild raspberry red blood blending

opening me up-

a zesty nip;

and as I disappeared in mirrored eyes

I felt the crows again,

and somewhere, that poem about the panther.