don't assume
everyone is like you

“There is no exquisite beauty… without some strangeness in the proportion.” -Edgar Allan Poe

We're all sick animals, tied together
on this clouded ball. Wet snow erupts
on a Sunday night, a gray flake navy,
mobiles above a black crib -

snow loosens into shaking sleet.
There is no one here - not even me.
The night is pink and orange,
under an anesthetic dome.

Don't we deserve more, better?
The streets are filled with taillights,
red rivers of light, salted, frothing,
as the freezing drips spray the pane.

Maybe we don't. Look out there,
at the wet world. We're just seeds
that open a root to the flood, swept
away into the teeth of the past.

Blowing leaves around my ankles
Burning colour in the trees
You are my autumn
Long light crossed with branches
Lights your limbs
A pace behind
Your mellow loftiness
Haunts my walks
At the nearing end of day
I am full of woodsmoke fear
Changing seasons, churning motes
Unknown as the dread-dark conker
Cracking underfoot

You are happiness
Gone , now
An empty bench
Gold and orange
A pace behind
Wearing that look from the station
Pity-I mistook for regret

7.11.21

Nothing is moving tonight, the air is utterly still
A vacuum- it is the milkman’s hour but not even the static whizz of his battery disturbs us
Everything is steeped in silence, there are dusters in the ***** pipes
I open the window looking for a draft but even the street outside is flattened by it
It weighs all around, we are like dried leaves pressed between pages in a forgotten book
Where has everything gone?

I drift back to the edge of my dreams for a moment and in the corner my therapist sits- *****, grey and cold as death she watches. To her right is a tall walnut wardrobe, like the one in great grandma’s back room that held all the monsters as a child
Then its heavy weight suddenly lurches across the floor, a wrench and scrawl of noise then it tumbles in thunder and I jolt awake as it races up the stairs to my door
What is it?
Hiding under the silence
Now the house is hot and heavy as ever, and I open more windows
And reluctantly the air moves a little but still I can’t sleep

Make a wish, and then its gone
A curl of smoke now a spent dry wick
Happiness held for a moment

Then the sickly spittled cake
For the birthday boy, mum loads him up
And jealous friends crowd round
Skirting round the edges,
Dad takes a snap at mum’s request
Happiness held for a moment

Further out, against the wall
Elderly relatives watch it all
In prickly jumpers, sovereign chains
Fisherman’s friends and pocket change
Slow and still, they watch it all

I unpack the plastic crap my parents bought
Parents doing all they ought to get me hooked
That plastic smell like sniffing glue
The cheap thrill of something new
Happiness held for a moment

Party bags at the door and then its over
Thanks are forced from mouths
By parents with an eye on the morning
Outside the orange October light is fading
On streets the lamps are lighting
And  the hush of school tomorrow hangs there
Among conkers and chimney smoke

Back inside my home the smell of boys
hangs in the air; a fug trapped
in deep pile and double glazing
The telly’s on now and **** are burning in the ashtray
Now they’re asleep, and its over

I sit surrounded in my room at the back of the house
The orange light is coming in through thin curtains
I can’t move for presents yet I feel I am imploding
Like a crinkled balloon, expelled of everything
Feeling everything and nothing
Happiness held for a moment

August 2021

Predannack

You lean back
Into the wind
On the clifftops at Predannack
It holds your weight
You test its strength
Leaning a little further
It holds, to your Joy
It holds
Arms splayed in crucifix
T-shirt billowing at your sides
Your sturdy ankles
Planted in deep heather
I watch from a rock
At the cliff's edge
Waves **** and swirl
A death's distance below
I am swept over
By sweet chamomile
Swept over
Reeling on  dizzying scents
My heart is stopped
By the Joy you feel
For the World
We killed