home, where is home now?

dead in the back seat’s

loneliness, and hours

spent gazing dead-eyed

onwards

fields now houses

where childhood grew in -

amongst the gargoyles and old-

man’s bearded bramble snipers

used to hang there midair in the

those tree armchairs counting

cloud sculptures reinventing

their finite floating castles

then began to rot and older

became sullen, pity such

protein, scarecrow thin in a

mirror’s angst and hesitation

clumsy as drunkenness yet

seeking somehow wonderful

underneath the bare sheets, those

slightly damp twisting, twisting sheets

uneventful dreaming and morning

wakes empty, does not fit belonging

does not fit in anyone’s smile, there’s

an ashtray of sky beginning to snarl

so here is the anchor relied upon a

root of a room confided in, had this

cocoon some twenty one years

familiar as daily wearing

here comes now to dismantle, how

dismal, anxious as a thirst or unsubtle

effacement, unrecognisable where-

abouts coming, 4 walls of unknowing

evening breaks about its final seeing,

a moon swung, cornish for the last

time, swords the land around older

looking as vintage, obscure photographs

won’t the sea miss my footsteps, miss

my glimpses? a stride of circles where

the seagulls greet and glide uproars

of blows and salt beginning winds

tonight this world lapses, knowing

backwards won’t be revisited often

as, there is fear like a noose of a

rain-scarfed-moon alone

about to be ripped, to be pulled

from such a loamy dwelling, going

is quite soon, towards future of

gnarly spires, lost lane’d sprawling

towards being swallowed the

city that hangs its occupants

by burial or sleep’s attained walking,

lonely such lonely listening

arriving wept train crawls in and

eases slowly from elsewhere,

the rhythm of rain-wet-voicing seems

to tap “why are you even here?”

spired, concrete shoulders, unfamiliar,

folk swarm in and about of everywhere,

strangers in doorway gaunt jaws, a three limbed

dog, a cardboard message “ none dream here”

mouths and mouths more than shingles

on a shingled shore, interfered with air

traffics the odour of used, whose to know

me anywhere? pavements quick with martians

i am being pigeon watched like a possession,

buses ghost by hissing their wheels on several

occasions, “take me to the room that’ll keep

quiet in” “whose to consider me here?” “no-one”

whose to know my outline, my whereabouts?

whose to roam this vulgarity of shyness to

be initialled? anyone? where the red river calls pulling

my every direction into absolute bits

happiness eludes upheaved roots

tamar’s great umbilicus

i cannot inch far,

the sea is distant-

archives of lost

azure

that narrative of

seagull-harsh-prose

where the squalls

at dangerous play

i smell the surf as it

yields broken-

waved inside of

this delved heart

a familiar, a known

cousin, a lover if

the gales are read

right, moon pale lords

a yell of metres,

here the sky is

quite different, an ozone

defiant lid, indifference

a city’s coiled intestine

roads disinterested throats,

polluted statues observe

at nothing and at nowhere

like love’s neglected cradle

groped by the spittle of rain

and eaten by exhaust fumes

and spat at by tyres

pavements roamed by

strangers filled up with

glances, skyscrapers

look obscene cactuses

here happiness isn’t

strummed much, here

where the days fold in

among themselves, unloved

daily habituals, daily out

from cotton graves, i long

for the muddled moors and

birdsong ransacking disquiet

gorse enthralled seas

a tin mine ruin

a silhouette of

antique voices

murmurs

(curdled mermaids in plastic,

miners beneath their slate worlds,

gales thru stood ploughs,

crones in dark awkward houses,

a ghost about tintagel)

“home is where?” asks the

the city-infected-breeze,

“not here not here” came

the reply, sighed-width and sorry

home is here amongst the

seaweed palaces and mackerel

bait, the creams of spume eating

away the coastline, my soul dragged

in the trawler’s nets

suckle come nourish upon tamar’s

godless ambrose, inside this granite

lung of curlew song and coastal

indistinct arches, come gaze the rock-pools

come listen forever the wind singing over

become the rocks that are sung across,

you are the one loved and not for all the

mead in this arsenic empire would i leave

dissolv-ion

insert of a

maelstrom

of a passive

figure striding

thru blades

headaches of

constellations being

forcibly broken

like the land lain

upon

sadness what drowning is this?

heart’s sway disruption

a drowned man constant,

remnants of reshape and

spire as aching wreathed

round with rawness

how awful is waking?

pin me to each blazing to each

terrible morning flare-beamed empty-raucous

where the half soot crows are

picking thru thoughts makes

dreaming into carcasses

that gaze of previous

shards like all of yesterdays,

bayonet thru a dove,

i am inert as death this dreadful tuesday,

unknown sleeps graze daylight

grenades heartache grenade outwards

poison in-situ for yet another stale birthday

in me no angel dare possess

no witness resumes to what profusely bleeds

throw the cliff off its axis

pour the sun into over,

worthlessness, skyless-ness,

buRn what is now down to bare lustre

who cares in the seethe of

this citizen sea? all are being

dismantled somehow, a silence

mid-roar disco, aftermath always of rain

neither subdued cacophony or

a wired shouting tranquility

lie stiff as a sculpture wreathed by

ceilings, come suffocate further

i am uproar of pages sincere

as knives, out from the nib’s

aborted ink from cupid’s ripped

out ribs, pointlessness encourages -

downness

that sigh demolishes seared-kissed-

re-glistened-muscle, destroys floors upon floor kingdoms

finally this is how to fall turbulent,

a spirals eventual discontinue, whilst

disturbing pebble smooth utters

into tinier fragments

frictions for eons for ions die

you lessen me sir. you collapse me

into something that is now no one,

a silhouette of another’s fingerprints

a person maladjusted

bracken sick hills molest the grey

sickly shore, and for all the thorns

that pierce thru’ out feeling, numbness

is applauding

quiet now as fossils

and eroded cold strengths,

burdens shall be enclosed

under failure and loveless sediment

a vagueness reminiscing, a long

lengthy stir of echoes

repeating

storm petrel

gristle and seethe

green-blue wreathed

blown out windows of

water of shouting water

formidable as mountains

then mirror-ease sucked-backwards,

rising like a giant’s chest pounding

falls like ten thousand gulls finishing

wrecks are being stirred

from cautious fragile, aloft

where fools dream to grasp

glides, sinks the storm petrel

oh weary winged harbinger

in pewter poured bruise, thrown

battler against watery skyscraper

by bad tempered hues and gales

in amongst shrieks in the

headache’s severe swirl, several

constellations explode once

emaciating distance from falling

being pierced by a peak, being

still and stood in the hex’s tornado

being smothered in a space of

thumbs, was that me decimated?

me in a white repeatable room

where the stormy psycho has

bayonet and reach, hurls itself as

winter against, aghast upon each wall

where the picture frames flicker

where the boy is hardly a man

but thinks himself masculine as

an outline for the crayon’s pink as hidden

sits there like a shore, like an

unfurling, for the hurt still threading

still acting out its home, cupid isn’t

over its existing autopsy, and is lucid

the sky is sharp and the headland

stretches like a badly sketched

finger, where hollering air bellows

to itself, i am worded blunt upwards

wanders

downward

further

darker

everywhere is torn-apart-wings

everywhere is shaped as laughing,

oh Icarus default where the climbing

ladders of light were oh hollow swallows hollow

“i was built of conversations”

now furious spats in ribcages,

where the breaths drown -

uneventful and on profuse occasions

here the seasons stay as one

opaque as a person that has

just been stepped thru, where

the surgical sun tries cheerful -

tries to stab quite thru, an eye-

sore if spoken to so keep the

swarm quiet, staple up their

throat voices

outside sprawls glassy, clouds

are victims of their own wet

carrying only tearfuls, slate as

rejection, onwards and passing

like here and quite unlike, half a

reflection that tries to be but sincerely

isn’t, what is crumpled up and

crushed as a spire all footsteps of gone

such a hill soaked mind and dull

as pigeons, take all the tall clocks

disown them, my solitary unravel

my stroll thru plentiful dead lipped

“who are you” asks self “are you half

of no-one?” loneliness becomes its

own lung,  this place of skin isn’t where

belonging is, can’t even dream up someone

ropes of stars held-fast-there-heart-snared

constant corrugated seas trying to rid what

obsession made drunk, there’s too much

of this ocean to drink, yet thirst is compelling

that beautiful azure

where gazes roaming

inks sorrow to continue

drifts the storm petrel

chest pains that were you

gone has

explanation,

the precipice maw

am halfway in

its cellar rank throat

trying to unravel

untie-able words

gone has

the reality i

grew stiff in,

surreal hurtful

possesses

massive

mountains

there

flutters

insistence

that i am

remarked

with awful

blades

dusk

is set

under eyelids

seethes with

you picture-

framed, gash on by the weathers of the ritual heart it knows nothing apart from rhyming its

baffled drum

you

claw inside

my ribs

mutter telegrams

and furnace

what is

imaginable

find myself

in deluxe poems

they scathe

and are sore,

into the bed’s

soulless reflection

self abhorred

self

jettisoned,

thrown

against the

sharp ceiling

down to the

bed’s blunt coral reef

frantic

scores the

perineum

its church raw

raw as ruin,

squalls of

hit and be hit

blows are

helping the

constellation

to dismantle

to fragment

into skies

dropping downwards

the mouth’s

furious head

has too many

tongues rust-

accomplished,

relics are being

babbled

thunderbolts

of where i was

had, where i

was curdled

and quite

thoroughly

diminished

spoke with

blisses but

really it was

the soul punctured

that softly hisses,

you rid me of

me

the rattle of

what can only be

inserted panic,

suicides being

leapt to, the carrion

of myself watching

thousands of wings -

maddened

worsening

whilst they

happen

stabbing, all

about

collapsing, a reusable pain, please do not love me again