undulation told in the bathroom
a liar. house settles between
finished and tall, and tall and
unfinished. the first howlings
of the year. bathroom shudders
a drip tap told me. to fear is
a fiber thing. houses are really
large woodwind instruments we
chose to live in. unfinished shows
us this in gale force, a low calm
pitch, resonating a window. left
open. fear is a fiber thing. as is
the rolling bucket. the slow sliding
then the silence. a little gasp.
undulation told the curtains it
was a liar. closed the doors. made
a little room, of stillness. sat. drank.
washed it’s bleeding teeth.
folded dirty clothes. ate a cake of soap.
undulated. said i was a lair. unfinished
house next door sings like a flute
i wonder if it confuses the bats and their
precious
little
echos.
whether it sounds like their mother.
and they begin to roost in her chest chamber.
poetry
sweet sixteen
Talking of tremors
she has a green
bathtub. One day
I filled it. One day
I put old rose petals
in it ,she said she
didn’t mind. Even
when they begun to
rot. She used to
lie in it and watch
me brush my teeth
and when I spat
she looked a
little harder said
why do you get
such a long string.
I’ve had a lot of
mucus ever since
I was sixteen.
She sung me sweet
sixteen in her
green bathtub. I
couldn’t bare to
join her. She
looked at me in
the mirror. My
insides curled open
like flowers. How
they tremble in the
sun. In the rain.
but then she gets
up. Says. Get
these petals off
of me. I have a job.
I have to go.
So I pick them off
gingerly as she
brushes her teeth.
I drain the bath.
Clean it too. Lay
inside ,clothed.
you in the window
it is not fair she
said. I flick through
the moments and it
dominates the frame
here. I chose the
angle which would
communicate the
feeling. Affrontement.
Solid face of white
stone ,little windows
(all cut in so tidy, so
beside). I liked it. Liked
the way I would get
lost inside. I know. It
isn’t fair , I want
to see you too. I’ll
watch the little windows
cut. I’ll have to go alone.
Grand.
I send you the picture.
tell you I took it
that Thursday.
when in fact,
it’s dated week
and six days
prior. Maybe
you will notice
maybe not.
Chancellor.
It’s not fair she
said. I know.
6:30 – 12:10 the next day (or, a punk prayer)
(1)
i can’t explain
i just wanted to cry
and you wanted a cigarette.
go then
that’s when tears started
it gave me shivers
my whole body moved
to riot
revolt
revolution
we laugh because they are funny.
right?
(2)
later. the river looks so dark
and full.
leaping a little far into
distraction
from the rain
we talk about floods.
as the red light curls
with the gold
you’ve never seen it from this side.
(3)
only the water seems shiny
everything else has lost its luster
better when it wasn’t legal
better when it was free
(4)
i told you already that it was shit
i told you already that it was fine
(5)
once we’ve reached queen st
just on feet.
we close our eyes to the blaze
white light
right. this is a shopping mall
sliver woman with no vagina
advertises handbags
(i know cause i checked)
(you know cause i told you)
do the lights turn off?
do the manikins ever see the dark?
are they always bathed in white light
and does that make them angels
who is light like this for
at 3 in the morning.
(6)
at the last bar, they serve me
Gordon’s
but you’re the only one complaining.
we drank Tanqueray when it wasn’t legal
we’ve got better tastes
i know.
i know.
enough seen
on the train i look at my reflection briefly
try to ascertain the moment when my iris stops
but i can’t.
people all look at me
and i can’t
when all the carriage doors are open
facing forward and say
i cannot tell when i am turning.
because you see it happen elsewhere first.
sometimes i can’t breathe, but
i see it elsewhere first
they watch me
and i can’t
600 meter eyes
600 meters to fire hydrant, if it doesn’t add up,
speak with governed throat. who owns your eyes?
eyes stare a parking lot
wide! open!
scribbled on the concrete, save the trees.
i guess the cars mean they didn’t.
who owns your hands?
walk this way. have a break, have pure
brandy. learn to walk with bottle feet.
you won’t slip if you just sit the fuck
down. who owns your feet?
boy sitting at the bus stop looks at
me and says. nothing
today the clouds look like they are leaving
me
back to sea. but then i saw her mouth
her eyes
eye lashes
sunnies.
she owns my eyes now and all of their
600 meters.
on seeing
on seeing, the ground did not immediately
fall, away
on seeing, it remained still and green
and grass
sway
the sky remained ribbed and
picture
on seeing, the sky was so
blue with the
calm ache
of your your back
to me
of indifference
on seeing, boy you
stretch hands like
you once did on
my lap
you walk with weapons
on seeing, this does not
matter , to walk to
own hands
(your hands)
which lingered where they
shouldn’t
on seeing, everything is still
on seeing, you walk
away from me,
the crime
scene.
and i sit, with the place where
it happened , wishing
i could
like you
just simply, walk away
on seeing, i am the calm
blue ache,
of a body , invaded.
for the days he hacked too much away (or; pinocchio is told its okay to play with knives, because god did too)
…one day pinocchio \asks me\?
where he came from
so I gave him a \\knife\\
\\sandpaper\\
\\wood glue\\ and
\\danish oil\\
((I TOLD HIM TO FIGURE IT OUT FOR HIMSELF))
the priests make \too many; mistakes
but perhaps it is simply
((CRUEL))to talk of – genisis – \as if it was\
easy(?)
as if god did not
CUT THE SKY out of his eyes
the sea OUT OF HIS THROAT
as if light \\WASN’T\\BLOOD!
as if he wasn’t just afraid of the empty…
…so it was that pinocchio begun to
;grow yew trees
;chop and prepare them for the wood glue
;attach them to empty spots
\\for the days\\that pinocchio
had hacked too much away
Tuesday second second
it was a Tuesday maybe
she was leaving the country hey
for almost a year, spoke about
a different land, place,
spoke of smoking, how she hated
second hand smoking
i told her she’d get used to it
told her not to worry,
10 months of exposure
would not give her cancer
but hey, maybe I say that more to myself than, anybody else
you talk about nicotine, old lovers who still
live in your chest
in your lungs
between your ribs
not much room in there for else
you look so young, and I look so old
i had a dream where I
let you come back in bed
i have dreams where I let everything slide
except remember there are two
you and you
if you put me on a hill of rolling
wild flowers and grassy hair
i will let you set fire to it
and burn out these edges
and my best friend shall cough everyday
she is in Japan and maybe you won’t, and you won’t, and I won’t but she will get cancer
Tourist
and that night, she grated her face upon a palm tree
cause mama pays special heed to splinters and spines
stumbles on a bus home
gets on for free, takes lots of pictures
imagines she could kill the world over, and over, and over, like turning
soil and replanting
and that night, she lied about everything
she imagines she could lie herself to a different place
stumbles back on pavement, wonders what a car feels like
if it could take her to space.
to ocean. and that night, she knows you are following her
and that night, she screams at traffic lights,
because she knows she’s gonna die
and that night, she just says hurry, hurry, hurry
get it over with, i’m tired of the slow creeping
just fucking split me open to bitumen, bleed me out,
try and love me with your choker hold,
try not to love me at all, try not love making corpses out of me
and that night, she watches boys in the distance
playing football under stage lights
remembers running for her life
being taught
to love, being hated