Tag Archives: feelings

Very clear sky tonight only two clouds

Very clear sky tonight only two clouds
In the ink we’re floating above the water
Not winded like they usually are motioned
We’re sitting on the concrete spur watching
The sea pass us by pass in front pass
The pebbles to our feet licking toes
Dragging us off into the current the lift
Air passes by our coats forelorn our t-shirts
The clouds are joining now that they see
We bathe in the moonlight glitter the eyes
Seed ears on the rocks cold hard on the soles
Never lack for warmth after dark when the
Moon speaks your name / in my mouth
And when the sun burns the same words too
Fit this skin but there the clear sky

Between the lines an artery gets fat

Pale those fingertips on the cut glass
Swirling textures that rub the snake
Crack dividing truth like flesh
I thought you trusted now cold lips
Sticking as they part over white sheets
We lie straight in the blue half light
I drop an unwelcome plank a leg
On your blue I pull it back the way
Whatsapp messages are deleted
You talk you smile you kissed are
Accusations from between my cheeks
Where the tongue moved your fingers
Should have touched like the glass
Canyon that cuts them as I type
Away the last drops before the stop

Old poems like worn shoes small and torn

Flap rubber and canvas on the concrete spent
You stride as ballet holding the bear warm
Close below your ribs and bunny ears on
Tattered sleeves pass cold pillars hold the sky
Echos whistling through your headphones
Skip in your step the bright lights in the dark
Shadows in the day slap the fuzz awake some
Shinflesh in the gravel I wish I could lay these
Lips on your lids and breathe the feeling thru
Your teeth as it fizzes my veins as it touches
These fingers but it lands off hides beneath a
Tongue burrows in the wax and whine we
Wear our old badges that remember death worse

I caught you in my trap

That springs to rub along sides
Grasp and hold in warm places
You thought some libertine’s
Evening that these bodies
Would stop your capturing
So wanton a hare as this
Loose on your lot and holding
My hips some sachets of condiment
Served for this blissful moment
Ghosts possess the mind’s eye
Totemic emblems are tossed

The fact of a mythological meeting
Is always lost whether
In faerie caverns or converted
Bedrooms the feel of my flesh
Between your fingers recedes
Dreamt away with the flaccid joy
Of distinctly female caresses
Needing to be touched
The alarm clock and the bottle unfinished
The questions dissolved in ultraviolet daylight

You walk away with a limp or

Otherwise encumbered

More of the Same

A dark Soho street or wherever there’s some red light
Basement drinking wine bars with charming waiters
Conversation and red blood flowing in the town’s
Ghost rivers that drown below the pavements but really
I mean the moonlight and the yellow street lamps and
You taking me to a place telling me what wines to buy
Sometimes I just want to be a girl a woman like the way
They said like romance and broken hearts unwanted
Pregnancies I just want your voice in my ears and you
In front of me in your subtle way and smelling the wine
That has been in your mouth and looking up and down

I digress

A harsh reality that unfolds like out of a song the wine
Dragging us away into some den of iniquity by which
We mean a side street with the lights out and the tall
Men in the street with their air of knives feeding drunk
Me for which you will be required to pay because
I’m your lady and knives and later we walk through
Endless bunker corridors of a block of flats of rooms
In this safety on this rough blue carpet in your sweet bed
The look in your eyes you understood what’s in me
You saw me and liked me you knew me and gave me up
For shame and that’s all there is it is now ended and
I’m not alone but I’m not with you and I want you
Sometimes but otherwise it’s just more of the same

She cut loose over the copse

The morning bird:
Singing into the fog of early dew, cutting the dull
Dank clouds with velvet wings, sharp as knives.
I watch her between the long, easy breaths of branches
And their leafy veils, following her flight through
A tunnel of clear dry air until all begins to soak
With mourning tears whilst the fields and woodland
Stir, and somewhere I catch her mounted by a fairy,
Driven down underneath the roots to elven kingdoms.

I drop into my puddle of lost veils: here below,
Where the leaves are sweet with fire colours.
They stare out from their spines. They crackle
Like rotted twigs in the wind, or tiny bones.



This is the Place I go to When I do not Want to Understand

I don’t have a clear picture today. There’s a lino kitchen floor like beige wood. It feels as though the window is open but it’s the fridge, vapour pouring out like in the movies going to see the man who makes eyes. I curl up inside. I am on the lino floor, legs splayed like a funnel. Something is pouring into me. My shoulders rest on the kitchen drawers, my arms lazily reach out for booze that isn’t there. Somewhere in the room things have spilled. I hear rollerbladers outside. I see an evening near Christmas; looking up at the Moon, I imagine making a window box with her as she tells me I will never make a window box with her. The flowers become orchids and die. The dull thud of thick glass knocking on my head, the dull thud of golden liquids, the dull thud of red wine bleeding makes rhythms across the scene, permeating the cold monochrome and beige, my splayed body thuds. Maybe I let it out in a sonorific, a grating, a breadknife to saw it. This is the place I go to when I do not want to understand.

Watch the blinding light as theatre

Those movements in shimmer and
Flicker and the glow like plot rolled
Into actor and spread across the eye
Shut eyes too tired to turn away or
While blinking scorch a hole through
This play this life this appreciation
Of light too bold in its purpose but
It’s warm still warm in the dark feel
Light that you cannot see hear light
And the burning be a part of some
Madness or illumination there is a
Fear of the dark not unwelcoming but
Invisible the base fear of unknown
And this is how some stare at the sun
Into blindness to try and see beauty
Again

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
With clay and
Wandering fingers edge my tips and
Because you believed me without being told
Because
You didn’t slip under me or over me
I miss that slick prick
Pushing through skin
Dredging up thick weaves
The sinful sighs
Come again
Solicited and moaning
And I’m silent about my dress
And he’s laughing and smoking
And I’m sucking

About Romantic Odds

(a drunk normally writes too simply for anyone)

It doesn’t matter but you didn’t come
I barely asked you to but you didn’t
You didn’t answer and you didn’t
I sat for two hours with two beers
You would disapprove
I didn’t talk but I got some good reading
Charles Bukowski going mad and Orwell down and out
Every minute you didn’t come I spent more of my soul
Every minute you suddenly arriving got more important
Now I know how Bukowski felt about horses
Big dicks and bad odds
I drowned in my two beers and departed.