Friday, 27 April 2012

Flesh Wound


I stare
at my phone
waiting for
more excuses
or an apology...

Neither comes.

Trying
just makes things worse;
you don't know why
we bothered,
I do.

Something to do with hope.

The simplest things
become too complicated
all because of a word
said too quickly
or not soon enough.

Sunday, 15 April 2012

Frankly


It was strange that you sent a letter -
nobody sends letters anymore;
unless they're demanding money,
threatening you with something
or being melodramatic.

The spirit of such gravity
is what posessed you I suppose;
the overly formal scribbles of ink
like the mechanisms of a singularity,
turning everything into nothing.

Sunday, 8 April 2012

Decompression


It started with a lie - (doesn't it always?)
Your eyes gave it away,
a flash of cold fire...
you were faking it, that smile.

The way you stood with him,
was posed, insincere, far too considered;
a catalogue photo of a feeling.
Who was it for? You? Him? - Everyone else?

The cipher was easily cracked:
ceraintly not a kiss that carried weight,
something planned, deliberate like
"liking" your own status updates.

Seven fractures for seven years
but it isn't my bad luck, seemingly
to "be" a thing is not to know it;
Love has no digital definition.

It is a millisecond or thousand years
or both at the same time and if it starts
with a lie, then a lie it will remain until
someone more photogenic comes along.

Saturday, 7 April 2012

House Warming


From the ashes I pull
the butt of a joint, still
good for a toke or two;
you nod and pass a lighter
frame of mind with me.

The electric heater clicks -
elements erupt in a burst
of promises yet to be made,
kept and broken by the heart
of a new constellation.

You sip cider from a can and
I gag at the thought of the taste;
like drinking a hundred springs
you say, and I take your word for it
wondering how many we will see.

Friday, 6 April 2012

On the hour


Like tar from a diseased lung
time drips by, slowly at first
and then in steady torrents;
I force a breath and then another
and another until I lose count of
the moments I wish it would just stop.

Thursday, 5 April 2012

Shell


Light flares off the rim
of a Carlsberg Export can,
as fag smoke curdles the air
the routine tapping of ash
drowns out the clock...almost.

Somewhere life goes on
but never here, always elsewhere;
in between breaths the only sound
is a second thought, doubt, worry
that the black dog waits in the dark.

The mirror doesn't reflect a man;
but a hollow, taped-up, broken thing
that dreams of no longer dreaming
of only making a contribution
by simply not being there.

Outside the trees trade secrets
and streetlights dabble in gossip,
always afraid of being alone
or worse of feeling nothing at all.
For what good is life, if you're not living?

Burden of Care


I watched the sunlight on your face,
listening to that song you'd always hum
wondering at such a conspiracy of chance
and if before you were even born
that you were being made for me.

But I don't believe in destiny or fate,
not anymore at least (how could I?)
when the thought of your smile
makes me weep at the shadows
that your absence casts.

A fortune cookie to told me that
I would be better off dead
(well, not in so many words) but
you have to have been alive
to ever really die.

Tuesday, 3 April 2012

Uutforsket


You get used to the cold, after a while
the bits and pieces of a life which
you refused to pick up, indicate
that there was always something
or someone else.

A rose by any other name...
another name is all it took to
suggest that you are – were mine,
but now belong to him or so
you've made him believe.

Cautious glances – preceed the
slamming shut of your soul when
you think of what could have been
if time had not intervened before the words
which meant everything but nothing anymore.

Would it be better if we were fogotten
rather than just gone? - perhaps then
we would not feel every moment
stratified, condensed and fragmented
(somehow) like a dozen first times at once.

You get used to the cold, after a while
a trick of the light is all you've become
or the last gasp of some other world,
at least that's what I tell myself
whenever I'm in the same room as you.