Untitled

 

Trees:

Silhouettes on a reclining sky

The last remnants of the sun

Dancers weaving past the curtains of my eye

 

Dm me later,

So much to tell.

 

And I will listen,

For the woodpecker sucking at the air,

And the wind ignoring everything,

Discordant there.

 

donotreply@

Kind regards,

 

And I understand,

That beauty is in the eye of

Haworth or Egdon

And I understand.

 

#exhausted

Friday Feeling

 

To be possessed by the scream

To shatter the silence

Now.

Violence.

 

9 missed calls

 

I can’t hear you though I tried

I’m struggling with presence… presents,

Don’t know what to buy

I’m not sure why.

 

10 missed calls

 

And I wish I could spend all night out here in the wilderness without a name thinking, no not thinking… dreaming, not optimistically, more associatively, falling – down – the – rabbit – hole. I wanted so much to be kind.

 

Just a little favour to ask…

Pick up some bread after work will you?

My daily bread,

My words unsaid,

Consumed –

by the roaring flames of silence.

 

Why you ghosting?

Silence is killin’ me man!

 

I’m in a cave

and everything echoes,

It’s a grave.

I could be resurrected.

 

BREAKING NEWS…

Another one bites the dust.

 

And I’m swimming

And nobody knows

And I am free

The horizon just goes

 

Storm Byron set to cause widespread disruption.

 

Destruction.

All great things fall.

Sinking like Venice.

 

 

Beneath the moon.

I am always a woman.

Effaced in a tomb.

 

[type message]

 

And the moon is staring at me

As I float

On the lazy river of the sea

My body, my boat

Grey, white, misshapen moon

Rise up Neptune’s Waves

You’re so far away

So cold, so dark,

Two lifetimes in a day.

 

It all sounds the same – the ping of the ring a ding ding

 

But on this earth

This earth on which we build

Build empires

Empires of knights in Fairy-book castles

Built in the sand

with the grains of your teeth

the tooth fairy stole

again and again

Swooping low

Enola Gay

Swooping high,

Almost a bird

Rising again

 

Resurrect yourself.

 

I am not the son of God.

 

Try again.

 

How much do you want of me?

Answer your phone!

Seriously, you got me worried here!

I mean it.

 

Answer it!!!

 

Slowly words evanesce

Quicker than clouds

 

Two items overdue.

Return immediately.

 

I have wanted so much to be sorry;

The shore is too far,

The sky is too far,

You are too far,

You always have been too far,

No, that’s wrong,

It’s me,

I’ve always been too far

Far on the road in my fast car

Lips fastened on the glass in the cheap bar

Cheap guitar I bought singing in Myanmar,

The singer’s repertoire I heard in Zanzibar,

An avatar I sent to an abattoir

And heard it scream:

Edvard Munch

“I know you”.

 

3 items overdue.

 

I have been displaced.

 

Oh Neptune,

Devour me in blue.

I have prayed for you.

 

I meant to catch up with you but you know how the clock on the wall always clicks…

I do.

I meant to say to you…

I know.

We could always…

No.

 

Finally the silence is true,

No more buzzing meaningless words,

I have managed to erase myself.

 

No?

 

Movement. I’m floating, not swimming.

Respiration. There’s a hole in the ozone layer telling us we’re dying.

Sensitivity. I can’t feel a thing.

Growth. I love the trees; they own nothing.

Reproduction. I told you I did not want to be reborn, recycled, reduced into a bitter representation of what I tried to be and never could be.

I will not be resurrected.

I hold the shell to my ear,

To try to hear,

And it’s deafening,

I’ve heard it all along,

The pull from the edge,

Four hours and he’ll know I am gone,

Extinguished by his waves.

 

 

Featured image by Jason Bolonski. Available on Flickr under Creative Commons 2.0 licence.

 

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