Twelfth Night Live and Online

There’s a love beyond a fuck that lasts And a fuck beyond love too short they Meet constantly like in a cheap Shake- spearian comedy mistaken and struck By tragedy but still living and awaiting True recognition these siblings these Comrades these necessary parts of one All mixed and split

You’ve got some jam on your lip and

I don’t say You’re making me new to your eyes They could be yellow if I could look Above the floor your bright shoes And you gave me your ‘slut dress’ so that I could Give Myself At home in the quiet I jut my hips and Massage my lips

Looking at myself in the mirror tonight

Wearing my dad’s robe and pink knickers We used to call all robes dressing gowns But if I say I’m wearing my dad’s dressing Gown you won’t quite get it the burgundy And navy striped flannel not the silk I Bought for myself and not the hospital Gown they wrapped

Sir Harry Wotton

To God, I’m Ill You’re the universe but that’s just pain in me now Crying on the couch loveless and miserable sick I need a drop of Christ’s weepings or something It’s not a matter for hospital beds and hypodermics An ear of David’s seed to suck and chew so

The sun comes up earlier now

And most of my daylight hours The wireless box flashes non-responsive I’m losing my sleep and dream And wandering time there’s not Enough dark in the moonlight to Hide the world from my eyes Illuminate the ravings of a heady Projectionist flashing unrealities in The quiet black in the room

The rush of blood as deepest tidal waves

Roll in just to pull away sun drenched Beaches sucking up stones and sand glass The regret of the beach washed is the regret Of an emptied vessel the way the tide turns Lingering a moment just to say Drags and pitiful and limp the dropping Heart the sunken pride

It’s not always like this

Lying on that sofa basking in Appreciation and when will it Stop what do you need to keep This warm what if you can’t your Brain goes in to shock when you Realise you’re going to die But there are other things too That don’t last and then come again

The blue and green bulbs have gone out

On the Christmas lights around the mantle Now all the room is red but that comes out As comfortable low harmless the red lights Are mostly rose like my flower is rolls of Skin and pressing the look into writing the Scent of pollen from stamen the dark walls Become

I put on my headphones like ear muffs and wait

For the quiet buzz leg moving shifting chair creaking Like a metronome that fails every thirteenth beat Gin trickling down my gullet feels like its behind the Heart and my throat is rocks limestone warm knees Under the robe warm knee under knee aching finger Spiderweb headaches snot dribbling at

Portraits of 19th Century politicians conceal half-remembered

Whispers from your lovesick lips and in the gallery standing I put my hands down to feel the blue carpet in your room And pulling at it rough the crunching sound of bunched fabric Under nails and your eyes wandering to me We both seem far too sober for this

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