— take from this what you will —

feed me something

even -

if it’s the stars from

your soul,

feed me

your oxygen atoms

for hands

———

i become

a dragon

inside of your

mouth, mauve

caves both

mauve into

oneness

———

you

could have been

the moon

across my

fern swayed

hillside, could

have held me

in starry breath

———

in darkly

written skies

feint voices

rise, names

of, their initials

shall fade and

fade, old trees

seem stubborn

to time, but your

kiss of once

fragile as smoke

made into

broken shaped

———

when ghosts

become clear

become glass

i see you in the forgotten hillsides

———

i gaze you

dead

in the past

that house

of voices

now collapse

rubble of

frames half torn

pictures, and muted photographs

i was then

a motorway shimmered

with what blazes you gave me

desire

upwards

flourished

red into

molten tigers

dash their sugarless cages

i was caramel

lazed there, in

swollen words

capsized in

the deep dunes

in the waves of a smile

———

what made room

for the root and

grew itself into

a tongue, into

love, into torsion

absurd as a head spun dive a rollercoaster’s swan upwards then veering in hell’s ocean, a conversation words thrown into mirrors

there are seeds

that own pale

speeches, can

necklace or be

groans of tides

my

everywhere

convinced

and

swallowed

———

i found out love,

a carving of a

precipice, had

many, many

throats, hallways

of lost faces,

discarded crushes

rubbles of

filled eyes, they had

been dosed with

tarnishes, and

what was swans

pulled apart milk

from their dowsed

feathers, i set aside

love like it was

broken cutlery, it

had a mantlepiece

a museum of their

sucked out heads,

a door that closes

backwards where

failure labyrinths

———

memories are

seized moments,

catches of, a person

kept as a picture

or a touch remembered

as dew adrift upon a

slope, i museum ghosts

quick as glass their

light creases thru

had is what life is

reels of, circles as

we have met twice,

i re-memorise your

taste, immortalise

each thought’s smell

make them apple

into sunbeam bursts, the

dapple of, try not forget

———

half of the other not found. searched the pale blue scenery, moats of clouds, trees whispering each other goodbye, haven’t met the mirror to find clues or to undo the puzzle of lonely, there up there a cloud shaped as a fierce pike, an umbrella is another, those emptied as persons have painted glass for stares and are often faraway with gazing, i am coffee marooned on my second then third dive into its caffeine illusion, words thrive about my silence, god resits at a nearby table recites from a book of deep pages, relearning a river’s line, would you ensure my world stays glowed? soar me, trip the volcano? he straightens and leaves by the least near exit, who is to roam my want now?

———

adolescent crouches

trying, trying to navigate

its opaque something

filling out into unknown

shape, crayon in the

ideas to an almost colour-

full landscape

tears drawn from darkened

places, now to choose my

face, whoever i am

whilst

days fell their

edges away

whilst

afternoons

cease and pass

life

still as

glass, still as a gaze reflected back as the loneliest gaze

waits, waits like a glued mantis, like a stiffened pillow under a coffin’s lid, like fatigued wings in a spider’s formal grasp

friendships

had, now

pale, beyond renewal and paler

the platform’s empty where childhood and all its fluttering, all its kaleidoscopes, taken, and the kites downed

and the beaches bare

having loved

when summer

made its bones older

and clocks sank

back to lonelier, as

adulthood fell, utter canyons

———

interrupts my

senses,

nearness in all

rubescent blushes

mycelial meshes

reroute, re-tangles

song from its hum,

nearly the moon entirely globes

careful colours exceed

coral kaleidoscopes in

such reefs, blisses all,

and drowning completes

———

careful as ink

recites its own blood

onto snowiness

onto disinterested pages

i

rebury

you

there

make mortal of

the strangle of,

you fastened

there

keeps

like

a bulb

of its limitless sun

memories

molten, none

will or can

form their land or their scapes

again

———

planetary hopelessness -

the mind’s awkward orbit

into down-ness where each constellation rubbles

this late autumn of us

the throwing down of aged

hands, used to count each

finger’s touch each ruby

blissfulness, every compliance

head’s a hole for the moon

to shrug, and coldness unsettles

words, they opinionate finite pages

autumn of our brokenness

has spirits fled, the lake

mirrors deadness mirrors

our separate gazes, in

opaque worlds farther away from one another’s lightning

let us carry the corpse

of sullen november

carry it to the bled horizon, onwards and gone

———

he is

he is

honeycomb

where

the lie is

re-caged

i

aged

there

for ages

until

the black

constellations -

ripped,

sex

darkened

its

scripted

hiding

the

tides of

your

struggle

i conform

as still un-supple coral

he is

places

where

solace

cannot

try

the

home you

left me

in is

bored

of its own skin

———

sadly

the fire has

worn out its

flame

and

quiet simply

observes

simply builds -

itself

into

graveyards,

i know -

i am named

there, its

stone already

a tooth

sadly

myself

where the

hollows are

time is

passing its

life, constellations

leaving the mind

———

still now

quiet now,

sleeping -

colours, hid now

silhouetted tree

handshakes the

still stillness that

is in reach

garden cocooned by

fences with shadow

that stretches, that occupy

minnows of clouds

taper in starriness, in

vastness of its gaze

lost there

unable there

follow there

traces of where

a moon should

exhibit white emulsion

i

museum

here

i

am where

i breathe

there is music

trying to be

thru some near-

by window

this night

unable to

catch its dream

a frost gown

is settling out

its dead dress

italics stiffen

written on the outside

edges of plants,

already or almost corpses

i

borrow

myself there

still now

quiet now,

sleeping -

colours, hid now

———

at edges

at the field’s

emptiness

aloneness is wrapping itself heart wise, deeply in the bandages that cannot be told to anyone

complicit

lightning

nerve endings,

masked with, make the river hidden, the tongue ties itself into quiet into oyster, like

flames

trying to

lick outwards

to wear further oxygen, pull back their magenta red limbs, make their cots cold, eerie and icy

———

imagined how the spires would be, would they fit into my new way of thinking or be upturned slow as sinking? drowned there for foes to collect to make my skull empty? the city tho black shouldered is agape, it has tales, all are strangers and do not let go of their hellos, sardines in obese buses have us swapping breathing, people constant in their unravel chase perfect pictures that are never in reach, a boy i feel flames from glances with a message, i try but cannot take root in his gaze, too many widened faces are chalk watching each other containing blazes, one is built of touches who will later be beaten, rain now pursues

windows, outside grey as pigeon backs, an aged person rattles their conscience then leaves, it is what thought carved out, everyone is nameless, passersby cloudy, few have lay-bys in their hearts for rest to occur, some a skies hollered at, a few are graves already, imagine myself less lonely in this city of unachievable domes

———

over as

an eyelid shuts

as a building’s

mouth condemned

enormous as

goodbye, or a

hotel of lost faces falls,

ghost of fragments in its mirror copy of a lake

like mine its glance said

over

like the grasses

receded with blows,

the shore upon itself holds wrecks and tired skulls, all had cranial butterflies once

the scar is

known and will

never be whole, it

houses such sad, sad cold paintings

hurtful as a thorn

———

head is

low,

it is cold

for

march

and its

entrails

of hope

my

anniversary

of

repetitiveness

its suitcase

of old

black leathery

skies

went

the way of

superb stars,

that was back

when past hadn’t

grown itself, over-

head is dark

now, its binocular

brilliance i’d be a

gaze amongst all of them

now is

glared

bright as a

word

that only stays

deep in its

goodbye, most

of having is

lost, i had

my father in

a gather of

dewdrops -

held him

that last once,

this is how

loss is a falling

of air off a high

granite cliff where

the seagulls eddy,

alone is -

a coast all of its

own a flint deep

path, it has skeletons

in calendar jumpers

old birthdays, cakes

full of weather,

now is broke and

pours itself out until

what was plenty

upwards i so dreamed

about, is empty