the clutter of words taking wing
beneath the wide arms  of dense green oak.

the deciphering symbols now begin
as  parts of the mystery fall into place

one by one,  each piece reflects in a mirror
so similar to what I held up to catch the sky
and reason, fragments that collided in mystical shape
and formed into spirals seeking fresh answers

the dreams that haunted our togetherness for so long
and I languished in every stroke  of your poetic pen

now falls the silver cross and the lining in these clouds
that have twisted and turned me inside out

yet I've built a crucible of hope from endless hyperstrings
and pieces of magnificent beauty that I first saw

in your writing and significantly  stayed magnetised
by the unfolding of your life into my own searching.

I will stand here forever, watching, even as the sun dances
into  dark of night and my feelings grow a new pathway.

Author Notes

Optional
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, 2 months ago

- See more at: http://allpoetry.com/poem/11580728-DreamCatcher...-by-Marshall-Gass-noguest#sthash.3aDaqvOh­.dpuf

“Mrs. Tubb, prepare my raincoat,” he said, “I’m going under the carpet.”
His ears were steaming.
“I’ll be waiting by the hanged stag,” he said. “If it gets to six and I'm still not home, put tobacco in the telephone.”

Down there, at the foot of the stairs, Mrs Tubb’s tears fell to the flattened backwards.
In the middle of the night, whilst she was sleeping,
And without her permission,
He had changed her name to Margot St. Vincent.

“Take off that murderer’s moustache and stretch out on the infamous Chelsea Blackmail Floor.
Ask the biggest bugs to dance,
You may never get another chance.”

The quietly handsome and magnificent Millicent Milligan was feeling rather ill again.
She had been dreaming of the brittle marigolds of Saint Petersburg.
She had been dreaming of pine cones and boiling marmalade.

Her home had fallen into a hole.
It was on the evening news,
But by the following morning they had lost interest,
A mountain had struck a commercial airliner and so no one was much impressed by her Home in Hole Hell.
355 were dead,
And possibly a well known racehorse,
And a corpse in transit who, of course, was already dead, but still, it was vexing for the family.
They found a priest in a poplar tree,
And the head of a hand model at the back of a cave.
(The hands were still intact and were couriered to their agent in a special flask).

Half in, half out of her delicious stockings
Wendice Titian cuts out scissor clippings of her
Sinister yellow sister.

Overnight the years twist.

Edgar Snooker has  heard he is to play ******'s dog on the silver screen.
Edgar Snooker is not a dog.
And the screen was never silver.
And besides, it is not true.
Someone is out to destabilise him.

As posh, brainwashed sausages consult
The Punchline Advisor of Dunkirk,

As the Lord is seen on all fours on His moon
Causing daily electrical police misfortune,

As the masses embark on the clamorous, scattered and impossible journey to disappointed purity,

As her money is without temperament,

As the self-conscious guilt daughter unbuttons her plush helmet,

So the richly magnetised stars are winding down.

As candles whisper in the middle of the road,

As Margot St. Vincent revolves the nickel tap
Of the gas powered knitting plate,

So Father Flynn is inconsolable.
He found a photograph of ****** Bob on top of his wife’s hat.
She denied everything,
Including that she was there at all.
Father Flynn fell for it.
That's faith for you.

Still a child; fragile, undefined -
trembling, timid and shy -
a body curling inwards
- petals and moonlight -
we're magnetised:
this shared desperation and
fumbling adolescent shame.

A throbbing, suffocated silence -
lost hands and strangled hysteria.
Achingly tiny,
shattered-glass bones flutter,
colliding and entangling;
causing the skin to lift
and contort. To ebb -
a fluid - a pulse.

His shoulder-blades
(the crushingly delicate shiver
of butterfly wings)
cast splintered, mosaic shadows
(sharp and electric
to trace) along
the gasping, groaning spine...

Pharate, we're demolishing ourselves
in a gorgeous, stumbling,
careless collapse -
colliding in cold frenzy, desperate
to hide - burrow - entomb --
to bury ourselves - his mesmerising flesh.

Rasping out - teeth and lip
and tongue - ravenous,
animalistic despair.
With timid breath - to rip, devour, engulf --
to hiss and **** delicious venom.
An ache - a yearning - for absorption,
for skin, for blood -
to be consumed and to consume -
to feel every pain of it -
to be wrecked - to become
the same debris.

I spill out into his shadows,
his indents, his cuts and curves -
their fervent whimpers, electrified palpitations -
and he to mine:
It's as though we're eclosing,
these golden deodorant nymphas - we're quaking through;
tearing apart every sad smother of silk - and now
desolate; forever nothing
but drifting, lambent dust.

Skin like porcelain -
cold and wrong to touch -
yet stomachs hot,
hurtling hot.
Flesh winces - ripples - under
premature pain.
("I'm sorry. I")
He crumbles, cuts
my thighs
and leaves us both with
scars that we, as scars, forever treasure;
and with veins seeping Hemolymph;
to heal, to beat, to grow.

warm sun sweet liquid
dark moist hole bristles soft sand
wonder exquisite
                            
                         *      
                                  *
                        SUN    
                             \/
                          sweet
                             ||
                       D  ARK        Q  QQ ||| b r i St  Les                      
                    s
                           o
                                f
                                    t
                                         sand ::::::sandcastles:::::::::holes OOO:::birth
                                                                 ing
ALICE

She basked in warm mid-morning sun drinking rooibos tea with almond biscuits. Her dollies speaking dolly lingo to marching ants. An indigo beam of sunlight rayed into her forehead, delivering jolts to her ladybird reverie.

Instantly Alice saw it. A tiny dark gasping hole in the flaking courtyard wall through which a caterpillar was  c r a w l i n g, beckoning her to
f o l l o w.
“Come,” he said, “with me, through MY intricate hole. I want to show YOU wonders beyond wOnders.”
eyes to eyes magnetised
a curious movement                             SSSSSSS
body lost legs, arms, neck                       SSSSS
brain smoking shrinking                              SSS
ears disappearing                                          S                
ribs increasing                                              

                      she felt an ***** growing
                      on the roof of her mouth
                      transmutation into worm or
                      serpent
                      how was she to know ?
        
                                                          
Her dollies started whimpering, ants stopped in their tracks, wall flaked some more
shedding skin
ALICE with two silky plaits, red ribboned tied
GONE to the
                     BE
                          YOND •••>>>  where no pond rip
                                                                       pled

black moist silently inward
sumptuous costume velvet
lime glitter embellished
crawling  s l o w l y, sleekly
spine tingling steel pins
rapidly acquiring density
            s e r p en t i n e  sword
            struck swiftly
            penetratingly  

Alice feared losing her
squirm worm
already her mind was
  L
           O
                S
                    T    

w i t h o u t  thistle  f i e l d s
or jellybeans or colour-in books
lego nowhere = ego shat
                                         te red

“Feel,” he said. “You can’t talk here, only feel.” She felt liquid through her veins, diluted warm honey, sensing bronzed bristles along the wormhole wall. Justice or Judgement eyes watched intently, though nobody touched.

             Her forked tongue grew longer
                  licked sides of damp musky hole
                      elongated, she was whole  

dead     alive     SAFE  opened  merging
slithering deep into belly of volcanic Earth
                  YET….slashed  slimy
s a i l i n g  sand  muddy   SACRED
worms and serpents crawling beside
behind, ahead ~
all heading in  O N E
direction________where to ?

“This is a pilgrimage,” her new friend remarked.  
Where     t   o   x2x2 ?
thoughts quietly rattled wormy counterpart  ~
“To Lord of Light, awaiting in a leather armchair.”
What must I do there, her thoughts slid along.
“Nothing.”
Then why are you taking me there ?
“To see what NO THING  is.”
How can I see nothing ?     DNA    j     m
                                                          U
                                                                p s
recalibration of
strings and strands ...
                            “Because  NO  T H   IN G  O
      D            is           Everything...”

They slid  a l o n g  > > ~ ~
slightly more haste
pace becoming faster
warm breezes flushed her
trunk. Her intestines becoming
                       an
          
               ~~ !!\\/\/\/\/!!! ~~~!!

EXPLOSIve  ORANGE RIVER
GOLD dust tinged ~   flame-purified
                                   no pebbles no grit no grime

“Feel,” her friend whispered, “we are nearing His g  RAY  sheepskin slippers sprouting WHITE lotuses. He is Nothingness, so don’t be afraid.”
                tingling sensations swept
                   upwards
                       from tail end through heart
                           to centre of her new skull.
Alice panted hot ice
I want to cry, but have no tears, she thought.
“HUSH hush hush ….don’t be afraid.”
Her body stiffened
neck area arched
scales curled   f  a  l  l
                                          i
                                             n
                                                   g            

webby rose petals faded
through floorless floor

NOTHINGNESS  and  EVERYTHING
flashed   L U M I N O S I T Y   n  a  k  e  d

A   Li  ce     died   * ¥ ¥¥**  an   e c s t a t i c
                                     D
                                          E
                                             A
                                                 T
                                                    H _


Alice Wanda Adam  ~  1.1.202O  — 1.8.2025


@never.never.land
                  she frolicked with
                  Rip van Winkle
                     who fed her TIME and leechies
                        skipped alongside Goldilocks
who offered hot cinnamon porridge and
a silver spoon engraved ~ AWA ~


What is her name ? asked the midwife
                       “A  L  I  C  E”   replied her Mom              
“Oooo, Sweets, she’s a  WONDERLAND ” a baritone voice chimed, stroking vernix ears.

mohair crochet bootied
Alice ****** HOT
mother’s milk
                       d
                          r
                            i
                              p
                                p
                                   i
                                      n
                                          g



©GhairoDanielsPoetry&Song2025

GOLD AND BLOOD

Mantis eyes magnetised her sister’s heart
felt its imprisoned glint of gold
willed it to enlarge into a
                                     lotus leaf upon a sea


It floats on a lake of blood before
dawn turning hot burning blue
heat of her own blood
                                    gold of her own heat


‘Let her not drown in
bloodied gold of red
running thick and deep’
                             So she murmured, so they did


To a shore of soft sand
Heart sailed escorted by
obsidian lidded dragons
                              gloomy gold unshackling


Guts, throat, tongue
puddle, pond, lake of
blood transmuted to turquoise
                               gold and blood morphing


Cupids created decoupage dishes
with bloodied dollars gold
called for another stint
                               to alchemise pentacles cold




©GhairoDanielsPoetry&Song
2018

You're the Apple of my eye, the laces of my shoes, the breath of calm after an anxiety attack or heavy cry. You're the hand on my leg telling me I'm safe, the magnet which magnetised the needle in my homemade compass. You're the net of a dreamcatcher, the final **** after a long and exhausting hunt. You're the sensation of being warm and naked after a cold and wet day out in the snow, you're the report card with straight A's. You're there toe beans of a cute cat and the contagious laughter of a newborn too naive to realize that everyone in the room is only laughing because they keep laughing harder, the positive feedback loop exhausted by cheeks too tired to smile and a diaphragm too used to move.

The sensation of being tucked in, but not too tight. The phenomenon of waking up in your bed because you passed out on the couch and your dad carried you in.

You're the dream where you fall in love and everything is perfect and great, but when you wake up you carry over that charm into your day to day life and everything starts to go your way. You're the fortune cookie with a fortune of the numbers 3,4,8,17,20,26,38,48,70 and the phrase saying "your long held-onto grievances will vanish soon, you will find your peace."

You are the learning, growing pupil of the Master of the Way. You are the concept of fairness and rightfulness, of non-ownership and laissez-faire government and home. You are the beacon, cooking a warm meal at the stove, so tuned into her world. You are the day dream, where the ordinary melts and the extraordinary takes over our surroundings and enchants our creativity while boosting and fanning that little flame in our hearts that keeps us going.

You are the first kiss of morning, with morning breath so stagnant from an unexpected ****** release at 4 am and an explosion of positive neurotransmitters, the development of trust in each other's arms. You are the attempt to synchronize heartbeats in a very tight spooning position. You paint the image of our energies moving in complex shapes before entering the other, circling inside and maturing, then entering back into the other. The ouroboros of emotion and trust and love.

You're what I see when I close my eyes, and you're what I want to see when I open them. You're the concept of someone I can truly let be. The independent, growing college girl with her whole life adventure ahead of her.

You're the angel on my shoulder which speaks to me words of reason and progress and helps me ignore this rotten goblin on the other shoulder. You're the voice I hear say "I really like them, honestly," when I see tracers in my vision.

You're a lighthouse in my mind. One safe thought, one place I can escape to for safety. But that's not really you, it's just my concept of you and my memories. But sometimes just that thought is enough to fuel it, because I'll be thinking of you more than I actually see you and I need to find the best way to deal with both.

I don't want to put you on some unreasonable pedestal and I don't think I have. I only truly mean like a third of what I said about the poetic "you are"s, because it would be unreasonably romantic to truly believe most of that. But I believe it in spirit and that's what matters.

You're the voice whispering me to sleep, and the reason I don't always have to wear ear plugs any more. You're the person I imagine running their fingers up my arms and into my hair when I watch ASMR vidoes. You trigger my ASMR and almost no one before you has been so successful in doing so. My body responds to you naturally in burst and quivers of euphoria and satisfaction, the curiousity of how you can pleasure and tingle me and how I can please you.

Rubbing your back and shoulders, popping your back ever so slightly, exploring the surface of your skin in every area. I want to learn and map your topography and dimensions and watch those change gradually over time as you mature into this yogi goddess with such a brain it's astounding.

You inspire me. You're such a hard worker and you're so much further than your circumstances could have put you. You're so strong Zo. Even if you feel like you're breaking sometimes, you're handling the pressure better than I ever could.

I'm grateful for my time with you, but I'm even more grateful for the peace you've helped bring to my tumultuous mind.

I hope you're getting just the most wonderful sleep. Dreaming of forgotten kindoms, songs never heard, places and euphorias never felt or synchronized with. You're a good person.

what enchants me the most
is how you make me feel at home
even if home isn't in sight

what astounds me more
is how you make me feel safe
even if danger is lurking round the corner

but

what mesmerises me just a little bit more
is how when you are by my side
everything is complete
and we
are magnetised

One and only girl
Give me a tease
Give me a twirl
Let my love inside you
Let me plunder your pearl

Oh what a girl
I'm thinking so frequent
Such royalty and majesty
P.S. I'm really loving your curls

You wear my medallion
Pride of a stallion
We stay so happy
Come lye in my lappy

Our magnetised flesh
So careful to caress
Oh Honey I'm coming
And I'm gonna be your best

In a grey moment I think of you
It is glorious it is
In my mind I can picture your treasures
It is wonderful indeed

I'm so enthralled by you lovely
Never heard of the world appalled
Might have to start a new language
Thinking of suited words to use

I saw you from afar.
I was too nervous to speak to you.
Your sweet voice on the other end of the phone gave me goosebumps.
I read your emails again and again hoping for subtle hints that you were interested in me.
You were in a thousand day dreams.
I thought you were too classy for someone like me. Angel like.
Your eyes mesmerised me.
Deep and foreign.
Your hair flowing over your shoulder blowing gently in the breeze.
The scent magnetised to me. Lingering long after you had walked past.
Lips to knock a man dead.
Your fine svelte figure sashayed as you floated silently across the floor.
It was too much
I was lost.
In love.

It’s just that
At 6:33 in the morning
I’m thinking of you
When i shouldnt
I mean i shouldnt
Shouldn’t i?

It’s just that
You are the tree
That every one of them
Has ever branched off from
And i thought I’d never need
To see your roots again
But i was wrong

It’s just that
I have seen you maybe a total of
3 or 5 hours
In four and a half years
But you haven't changed a single bit
You still feel as beautiful
And as fascinating
As i have always thought you to be

It’s just that
I feel remarkably
And inexplicably
Magnetised to you
I see you in every one i thought i loved
And every passing by
Every brush of the arm
Every chance meeting at a coffeeshop
Keeps me craving for more
And i don’t know why

It’s just that
Maybe i just lust for life
I long for your touch
Just for the sake of being touched
Or maybe
It’s the brevity that
Strums my chords
This beautifully awful way
Or maybe
It really has been you
All along

It’s just that
It makes no sense
I mean
You
And
I
It’s a joke right
We’ve been this way before
And I know the way it ends

It’s just that
I can’t help but hope
Or think
That these years could change the way the trail leads

It’s just that
My whole life
All I’ve wanted was to be sure
And now
More than ever
I just want to find out for myself

She was the type who would comfort her attacker.
All memories of love were postcards for her wall,
as she slipped undetected through life, collecting
bus tickets, old receipts and post-it notes,
all with an atypical tolerance for red wine.

She spent her days lying in waste, lying in wait
for the moment that life would catch up with
her beautiful mind. She gave love to him
in magnetised letters and pillow talk,
but she was forever replied to in silence.

She would reinvent herself in hangover light,
before ordering take-out, and spending
the week inside. She cursed her translucent skin
in the sunlight, and yet she glowed in the summer,
as the breeze unsettled the hem of her skirt.

December, end
of year, end of something,
my acquaintance will be forgot.
Ode to divorce, if we were hitched,
but hey! To a new beginning.

Night like charcoal
on windows. Out of bed,
coffee, new machine, shiny black
juddering awake,
spurting caffeine
into the vacant cup.

   You’re doing my head in, you know that?
Yesterday’s game, lobbing
words, ping-pong tiff, oh
you didn’t think I’d forget?
Regret it? No. I was on top.

A dog barks.
I think of my grandpa’s Alsatian,
bounding tennis-ball-in-mouth
when I’m fifteen, hands sticky
with slobber, for a second,
when you were unknown.

I sip, finish, got new batteries,
make that gawky move
with the jacket, slip on trainers.
I take my Soviet Kitsch, Sigur Rós,
and your Killers. After all, the latter
is how it began, ‘it’ being us, your lips laced
with lager, my Dr. Peppered self
gushing with excitement
at being out of the house.
  Didn’t peg you for a fan…
   I guess I’m not what I seem…
ain’t that the truth darlin’? Everything
will be alright. Look

at me now, opening the door so quietly,
cold latching onto my skin
like I’m a magnetised substance.
I like how you don’t know.

Ginger cat scurries from under a car.
I think it’s running away too, running
from us. Right idea ****.
You know ‘****’ means kiss and ‘tom’
means empty in Swedish? I think of that
now, funny how a strange thought
can leapfrog to the front of your mind.

I can’t drive, you can, but you’re asleep.
Boy, you’ll be wondering
where I am, but I was never
there anyway, really, I don’t think.

Hours from the shock of me, gone,
for reasons unknown,
a magic trick with
Carbon Monoxide in my ears,
your Brightside too.

Ironic poems
In an ironic journey
Of magnetic poets,
And magnetised pals,
In a magnetic field of
Priceless poetic portal
Of multitude of high altitude
Daily display of dazzling delight
Never had I failed to miss a day
Even if I skipped my meal

There are so many moments, where you let slip the fingers
That was once your source of comfort and warmth,
That once was your home and livelihood.
It could be the last moments as you let them fall off a cliff
Or the last time you realise you'll ever hold the same hands
Or the last time your parents held your hand.
The moment where you let go of someones fingertips.

However

Beautiful eyes,
Got me magnetised,
If I had a chance to hold your hands,
Though everything destroying the planet,
I would urge myself not to let go
I hope that you just know
That your personality exudes from your words
So I can only imagine what lets out in the palms of your hands.

Beautiful eyes
As beautiful as the skies
And I am one to fall in love with stars
So beautiful eyes,
I ...hope one day my palms won't remain empty.

I don't know what it was at first-
that caught my attention.
It wasn't that you laughed at
my jokes and made me smile,
it wasn't the clear blue skies
you had for eyes, it wasn't
anything physical...
I think after a while,
I started to know;
what it was that
kept me magnetised to you,
always coming back
and even after every fight
I'd still come running back
apologising because
I would rather lose a fight
than ever lose you.
I knew what it was
that kept me falling back
towards your direction,
it was in the fact
that we shared the same
eyes, the same smile,
the kind that hid things,
and the fact that you
could find it in yourself
to care about me.
I knew it that you had
a loving soul because
as you were created
you're ever going to be
extraordinary to me.
Just the right amount
of extraordinary that
made you beautiful.
Just like the way
sometimes some stars
would align, enough
to form a constellation.
You are a constellation,
so distant...
yet so elegant.

So please give me a sign,
let me know if
I'm koalafied to be your numpty.

Standing there so close
I could read your thoughts
For they matched mine
Magnetised on the platform
You pacing, looking, sighing
I stood still
Time stood still
Ten minutes
Ten whole minutes
Tick tick tick
Train clattering down the tracks
As it gets nearer you get further away
Eyes lock
Time stood still
Ten seconds
Ten whole seconds
Tick tick tick
Standing there so close
You could read my thoughts
For they matched yours
Door closes
You pace, look, sigh
I stand still
Time stands still
Train clatters down the track
As I get further away I wish you were nearer
Ten seconds
Ten whole seconds
Why didn't you stand still
And just talk to me?

My time in the shadows has darkened me to pale yellow
words that sing in the jazz moment of knowing
how the rhythm undresses the silky smooth curves
of the rhymes that bloom and blitz in the moment
of writing.

Bright light stuns my eyes as I try to squint
at the  luminescent blue visuals that step into place
as gingerly as the last woman I seduced
with an open hand upon my heart.

I am a lover of beauty and brains. It is
but natural to be magnetised by the mind
of the other person who sees 3 D drawings
in the fragment of a captured moment.
Why do women sensualise feeling that much more?

There are many on AP that tick the right boxes
with their artistry of the spoken and written words.
Naming them all would expose their flawless skins
of pristine poetry to public gaze.

I am also selfish wanting
to roll and tumble in their mastery of liquid  language,
just to caress their velvety words with my fascination!

Write on my beauties. Write on.
My heart flutters for you a thousand times
more as I bathe in the silky soap suds
of your sensuality.

Author Notes
Ode to Inspiration.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved.

To everything there is a season
Am I ready to let go?
Romantic v. Voice of Reason
What I feel and what I know.

Muddled by my cogitations
Such a lack of clarity
Yearning for the old sensations
Held back by uncertainty.

I can’t reach a destination
Magnetised, my compass tilts
Time for a new incarnation?
Banish hangups, hurts and guilts

Feelings reconciliation
Pay a penny, spin the dial
Out spits the determination
Leave your heart to mend a while.

Took a trip yesterday, destination over there
Settled down some where, between here  and there
The place was unfamiliar, and my mind couldn't grasp
The difference between, this this and that that
Nothing is solid every thing is slow
There’s nothing to do and there’s nowhere to go
When apprehension set in, at the very start
I took a look at him, and set anchor in his heart
I watched the show unfold, somewhere behind my eyes
I met someone named Lucy, who  lives in the sky”
I knew I was responsible, for everything I saw
from the liquid walls, to the winding halls
Though I wasn't tired, I laid myself down
thinking about everyone, who wasn't around
I bounced like a ball, through the memories
skipping days and weeks, and months and years
I landed now and then, as if magnetised
by moments in the past, where I’d sigh or cry

Half smile,
The rare dimple in perfect
Pleasure to the eyes,
But never outlandish laughter.
( Like a woman who knows she has
You in her trance)

   Hip bent to one side,
Arm defiantly attached to bent hip,
Her dress of flowers flow like
A mobile garden,
The air seems to glide around every
Curve and dress wears her well.

The eyes of men
Become magnetised,
Through which the world
Is observing her magnetic frame
The smile piercingly gradual,
Yet playful, still a touch of vulgarity.

Woman, whose smile
Beckons a portrait,
You walk with depths
Unknown, but the abyss
Of your smile
And the eyes jumping in.

in the promise
of your kiss
mouths barely
touching
the lightest brush
of your generous lip
against mine
the warm dusting
of your breath
against my skin
tasting you
in my mouth
before you have
even touched me
I'm fully lit for you
thrills running
through
my wanting body
pulse thrumming
in my veins
my skin
on fire
craving
your touch
in those stolen moments
of almost touching
almost kissing
I feel your love
completely
it washes over me
pulls me
like the 7th wave
of an outgoing tide
at full moon
heavy undertow
dragging all logic
out with it
tossing me
tumbling me
caught
in the current
of my desire for you
I could be
shipwrecked
blissfully content
to be lost forever
your body
my deserted island
sometimes
all this love
all this passion
all this tenderness
all this heat
I have for you
overwhelms me
I lose time
just feeling
the intensity
of it all
find myself
breathless flushed
from
the mere thought of you
always
there is the pull
felt deep
in the pit of my belly
magnetised
and drawing my compass
to wherever you are.

© J.C.

Metastasis. Blood. Asbestosis. Tumour. All the other words for we don’t know. All the other words for dead. New routine – get in the car & go to school & get out of school & get in the car & drive ‘til you feel like screaming & walk in through some chrome doors and go up through an elevator to hold some bones in your hands. Luck doesn’t feel like luck when it’s like this: the day before it happens I am listening to the breathing of a man on as much morphine as I feel I deserve right now those

Painful       breaths   feel        than     beating
shuttered   that         louder   a           heart

What was I saying? The day before it happens I am spending my last thirty minutes wishing that I were anywhere else. C’mon, take my hand. I’m invisible now – watch me evaporate through the wall of the building down back to the carpark down to the creek near the chrome building down into the creek. Watch me shovel mud into my mouth so I can feel it too. Metastasis. Blood. Asbestosis. Tumour.

Mud. All the words for we-don’t-know-if-it’s-days-or-weeks all the words for it-could-be-months all the words for liar liar liar liar liar liar liar liar liar liar liar liar liar liar liar liar liar liar liar liar liar liar liar liar liar liar liar liar liar liar liar liar liar liar liar liar liar liar liar

Hold my hand in this 1-2 rhythm. Hold my hand. I promise I’m not bones yet. I promise I’m not like that. watch me evaporate through my own life. won’t you please hold my hand?

it takes two to dance but it only takes one to throw off the rhythm and i for one am sorry that i threw you so far & threw myself along with it & it doesn’t matter & it’s okay because you found your own way back & i’m still out here without the rhythm & I can still feel it lurking in my lungs & I think the mud is genetic

And lately late at night when I find myself thinking of these things / of how much pain you can have / of how little oxygen you can subsist on it really makes me wonder why you won’t take my hand

does the mud staining my fingernails scare you? it’s only the ends of me that are ***** i promise i wouldn’t do that i wouldn’t do that to you please we can excise the rot from the tips of me / from the total of me we can excise it. Won’t you please pass me the next mouthful of mud before I start again / start to end?

What was I saying? Take my hand. Breathe in with me. Do you know who I am. Do you know why you’re here. Don’t cry. Take my hand. Breathe in with me. i’m invisible now. watch me evaporate through you /  watch me watch you not try to stop me / watch me tie the belt against the doorknob because i learn from the best. Watch me float down to the creek / take your hand in mine & press the mud back into my throat.

watch me climb into your car & by your car I mean / not / your car because you don’t know how to drive or you do and you’re a bad teacher or you do and you’re a bad driver or you do and you’re bones in a hospital bed or you – (Watch me Lose who You are)
(Are you still breathing in there?)

watch me climb into the car & press my foot down on the pedal that I know & go like i’m magnetised to your house because i know the way from the millions of bus rides to the carpools to the you or not you or doubly not you taking me & watch me drift through your back garden through your trampoline with all the exposed metal & over your pool with the tripping / scraping / whatever hazards & careen into your back deck through your second dining table into the den & finally & finally & finally & finally & finally & finally & finally & finally & finally & finally & finally & finally & finally

crash through your back glass windows into the couch that reminds me too much of the same one that someone has / had but not without the blood on it but it doesn’t matter really if i’m never gonna see you again & let me just blow a kiss at you with my mouth full of mud before I bite my own hand off –

AND

(0400 – No response. DNR)

won’t you please just take my hand while I spew all this bile at you?